#you ever get that feeling like sleeping is even too hard to do
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cinnamorollcrybaby ¡ 3 days ago
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The way Nanami subtly doms you
Tags: dom!Nanami x fem!Reader, sub!Reader, dom/sub relationship, NO age regression, sub space.
An: yeah idk i feel like nanami’s very subtle with his domming style, but i see shiu kong as full on dom.
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• Nanami isn’t the type to flex his dominance over you. He doesn’t have to be rude or degrading to drive the point home. You know exactly when he gives you that look, it means to behave. His hazel eyes cut in your direction, and his eyebrow raises ever so slightly, like he’s amused by your disobedience. However, he doesn’t smile — doesn’t reward bad behavior.
• “Want to say that again?”, “Language.”, “Didn’t I tell you no pouting?” when you’re being a brat and mouthing off. bonus points if he’s pulling his tie away from his neck and slowly wrapping it around his palm.
• It’s simple, but he gives you his hoodies or coats to wear when you’re out and about. He likes seeing his clothes encompassed your body, and he enjoys that everyone will immediately be able to tell just whose you are.
• Speaking of clothes, Nanami’s not the type to tell you when you can and can’t wear something. He’s confident in his abilities to keep you safe, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make suggestions. “Are you sure about the skirt, sweetheart? I don’t want your legs getting cold.”
• He takes great care of you in an inconspicuous manner. He’ll adjust your clothes on you, buttoning up your top or gently fixing your unruly hair. He’ll throw your towel and pajamas (that he picked out for you) in the dryer when you’re in the shower, so they are all warm and cozy for you when you get out.
• Nanami is also the type to set a pretty firm bedtime for you. He knows how much you like to stay up and how ill you get in the mornings if you hadn’t had a minimum of 8 hours of rest. So, he sets you on a pretty strict bedtime schedule and routine. Don’t worry. He’s there every night to cuddle you to sleep.
• Insistent that you hold his hand while you two are out. He knows how distractible you are, and it eases his mind when your palm rests in his.
• The way he talks can throw you straight into a more submissive headspace, and he knows it too. He doesn’t do it often, but when he notices you getting too stressed or burnt out, he’ll immediately start with the dom talk, “My baby needs a break, doesn’t she?” He’ll coo and pull you into his lap, and when you inevitably lean into his touch, “There she is. Did my baby miss me?”
• Nanami sees it as a gentlemanly thing, but it could also be seen as another form of domming. He doesn’t let you touch a single door handle if he’s with you, and you best believe he’s walking on the outside. You’re tucked beside him on the inside of the sidewalk. He’ll also never let you hold a shopping bag. No, he does not care that he’s holding a bunch of Victoria’s Secret and Ulta bags. He pays for everything. If your car needs gas, Nanami fills it up.
• On the off chance that you two are out, and he’s not right beside you, all he has to do is curl his finger and point at the ground in front of him to let you know that he wants you to come to him, and you better do as you’re told.
• The king of giving simple stern instructions. “Look at me.” “Speak up, baby.”, “Come here, now.”, “Give me a kiss.”, “Ask nicely.”
• Nanami will sit on the couch, spread his legs, and pat his knee when he wants you to sit on his lap. He doesn’t even have to give simple instructions for that.
• Even while he does all this, he respects your independence, autonomy, and intelligence. Let’s bffr rn he’s your biggest supporter in everything you do. He’s so in love with you because he knows how smart and hard working you are. He’s so damn lucky that he gets to be the man to pamper you and ease your weary mind. He loves being that safe space for you, so you can just relax, lean on him, and just be you.
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darnell-la ¡ 2 days ago
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Love your work! it’s so good, i was wondering if i could request another darkpervy!Logan and reader, She’s sleeping and he sneaks into her room and does whatever, you can decide if she wakes up or not and what they do, thank you!
note: we’ve been gone for a little, but we could never not come back with a dirty, dark, and pervy Logan Howlett post.
———
Logan wasn’t the type to think about secrets the group exposes on themselves on their drunk Friday nights, but what y/n had said earlier had been in his head for the last hour.
“Is it normal to, like, pass out after you finish? I’m not joking- Shop laughing!”
Everyone took what she said as a normal dirty secret, but Logan? God, he got hard within seconds of hearing her secret.
Now the man is outside of her room, listing through the thick door for her moans. He could tell she was close.
“F-Fuck,” y/n whined as her legs began to shake. Logan did his best to keep himself back from cumming right then. Her voice was enough to make a mess in his pants.
After Logan heard a few whines that sounded low and dead, he knocked on her door. He prayed she wouldn’t answer, and thank god she didn’t.
Logan quickly entered her room, closing and locking the door before anyone saw him in the hallway.
The man slowly turned around and met y/n’s sleeping body. She really wasn’t lying.
Logan was excited, heart pounding as his cock twitched. He knew tonight would be the best night he’s ever had.
“Can smell that pussy from over here…” Logan spoke low as he came up to her bed. He thought about taking his time, maybe eating her out or jerking off over her face, but he decided he needed to be in her.
Logan quickly undressed himself before hovering over her, getting in between her loose legs to spread them apart. “So perfect,” was all he could say.
Y/n isn’t too much of a heavy sleeper after she goes out after an orgasm, but for some reason, she hasn’t woken up yet. That orgasm had been one of the top bests.
“Gonna get this done quick and easy, okay, princes?” Logan spoke as he began pushing at her entrance, instantly feeling her tighten around his shaft. Logan groaned loudly as y/n whined, slowly waking up.
Y/n spoke, but Logan couldn’t understand her. She hadn’t even known what she said. She was out of it, and that only made her look better to the man.
“Keep it down, baby,” Logan said as y/n’s head slowly began to move, but she wasn’t fully awakened. She knew something was going on, but she felt pressure in her lower stomach and head. She felt a good kind of dizzy.
“So fuckin’ wet, Bub. You weren’t gonna tell me this? I thought we were close friends?” Logan said as his hands grabbed her lower body, pulling her into his now hard and deep thrust.
Y/n’s eyes squeezed before she tried opening them. She had failed a few times until they finally opened. That meant nothing though, as they were rolling to the back of her head from the sudden pleasure.
“Feels good, sweetheart? Tell me. Tell me you feel good, y/n”, Logan growled as he looked down at her smaller girl, watching her struggle to stay awake and take him.
“Lo?” Y/n asked, which came out as a whine. “Ah huh, I’m right here, baby. It’s me,” the man assured as her hands touched anywhere to grasp what was happening to her.
“L-Lo,” y/n whined, feeling his cock slip into her with ease as she grew more wet. Now she knew she was being fucked, but her brain still couldn’t comprehend the situation.
“Don’t worry — I’m close,” Logan spoke, confusing y/n as she slowly lifted her head. The young lady focused on what was thrust in and out of her cunt, and when she realized it, she couldn’t help but moan.
“Logan,” y/n whined, eyes still on the way his cock pushed into her. “You like it?” Logan asked again as one hand rested on the back of her head, keeping her up to see the view as the other strongly gripped her waist.
“I-I don’t know,” y/n said, but lord knew she loved this. “C’mon, Bub — Tell me you like it. You take me too good not to like it,” Logan said, feeling himself near. “I-I like it,” Y/n’s low voice echoed through his brain.
“Fuck yeah — You fuckin’ like it, baby? Like me having my way with your half-unconscious body?” Logan couldn’t stop thinking about how much he loved her being this way. He never knew this was a kink until earlier today.
“I-I do,” y/n replied right before a pool of cum gushed out of her. “Oh yeah, baby — That’s what I like to see,” Logan picked his pace up, feeling his cock goat h uncontrollably.
“Once I fill you up, I won’t be able to stop,”
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straylightdream ¡ 15 hours ago
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midnight drives
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𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: choi seungcheol x curvyf.reader
↳ late night drives lead to desperate kisses with your sister’s ex boyfriend.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: friends to lovers?? non idol au
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k and counting
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, unprotected sex(mc is on birth control), so much kissing, marking, and biting while kissing. seungcheol is obsessed with kissing the mc neck.
if you would like to be tagged please fill out this form.
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PREVIEW
Leaning over the center console he roughly connected his lips to yours. He moved his lips against yours as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He was kissing you as if he was trying to prove a point. Your lips moved against each other as if you needed each other to breathe. He pulled his lips away from yours and stared into your eyes. Your body felt warm suddenly. You just stare at him wishing he would kiss you again.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, really hoping you would say no.
“No,” you whispered.
He smiled as he moved his lips to your jaw and started kissing down to your neck, and occasionally licking and nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. You knew at the rate you’re going you were definitely going to have to cover up some marks on your neck tomorrow. A moan passed your lips as he slightly moved your sweater off your shoulder so he could kiss your collarbone and the top of your shoulder.
The way he was kissing you made you want to rip his clothes off. He was getting you so turned on without really even trying. You could spend hours kissing him like this.
“What’s going to happen here?” You asked as he continued to kiss your neck. Earning another moan from you.
In-between kisses he managed to say, “whatever you want to happen can happen.”
You closed your eyes enjoying the feeling of his lips ghosting across your skin. Nobody has ever kissed you like this. “The way you’re kissing me I feel like you have an idea of what you want to happen.”
He smiled against your neck before lightly biting down, “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just enjoying that I actually get to kiss you like I’ve always wanted too.”
Tangling your fingers in his hair you held him closer to you. You knew you probably shouldn’t sleep together. It's hard to tell your body that when you’re turned on. You didn’t know if you could walk away from this.
“If you keep up what you’re doing I can’t promise this will end with just kissing,” you said, rolling you head back in pure pleasure.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, pulling his lips away from your neck.
“You have me so turned on right now kissing isn’t going to be enough,” you sighed, reaching over and resting your hand against his cheek.
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silverfairywings ¡ 16 hours ago
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— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT III
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eris vanserra x archeron!reader
summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.
a/n: sorry for such a long break!! pls let me know what u think and again if you’d like to be added to the tag list send me a message or ask as I rarely check my notifs and go back to them. also sorry abt the cliffhanger uhmmmm also unedited ok bye
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“You look like crap.”
Your eyes flutter open to see Mor scrunching up her face as she peers at you from her seat across your own at the dining table. It takes a second for her words to register and you throw a belated scowl her way.
“Good morning to you too,” you mumble, sitting up to continue swirling your spoon around your bowl of barely eaten oatmeal. Your appetite seems to have vanished over the past week, but you try and force a spoonful down your throat, nearly gagging.
Mor narrows her eyes at you and her lips press into a thin line of concern. “No, you seriously look like crap. You’re not eating lately and you were literally asleep at the table when I got here.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” you say, defensively. “I was resting my eyes.”
“You sound like Cassian after a three hour afternoon nap.”
“I’m just having a little trouble sleeping.” You set your spoon down and push the offending bowl away from you before slumping in your seat. You brush off her skeptical look with a wave of your hand. “I’m always like this after absorbing Fae magic.”
And over the last few days you’ve been absorbing a lot. All in an attempt to find out as much as you could about the Fae rebel group that had been attacking the borders of multiple Courts, in order to weaken them and make a point against you.
Well, you and your sisters. Not all of Prythian was accepting of Feyre for how she was Made, and even less so of you and Nesta and Elain. Instead, they viewed you as unnatural mutations and the whispers had only become worse after the War. It seemed that the lack of conflict looming over Prythian was unacceptable in their eyes.
With the help of your powers and Azriel’s shadows, you were closer than ever to finding them. Truthfully, the idea that there were Fae out there who hated you didn’t bother you so much in the sense of feeling like outcasts, but you couldn’t lie. They were starting to be a giant pain in your ass.
“You’re never like this,” Mor scoffs, gesturing to the bags under your eyes and the hollowness of your cheeks. As her voice raises, the pounding of your head gets more intense and you attempt to hold back a grimace. “Why is it affecting you so much this time?”
“It’s the type of magic I’m absorbing,” you practically whine, abandoning all pretences of being okay and allowing your shoulders to drop. “It’s so angry and harsh and impure, Mor! It’s literally making me sick because I have nowhere else to redirect it.”
At that moment Rhysand and Feyre walk in to join you at the table.
Rhysand, having overheard you, chimes in as he reaches for a plate of fruit. “Good news, our little Siphon,” he nudges you lightly, the nickname making you scrunch your nose up in mock annoyance. “We have enough information now to move forward using Az and Cass and resources from other Courts. The only thing we need you to do now is rest.”
Rhysand’s upbeat tone brings a weak smile to your face. You know that he’s being flippant to make you feel better, like he always does when you’re stressed or unwell and you’re nothing but appreciative as he whistles under his breath, nonchalantly piling some fruit onto a plate for you.
“You should have been resting days ago,” Feyre eyes you from beside Rhys with furrowed brows, taking in your tired form. “We told you yesterday would be too much.”
You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Give me a couple hours and I’ll be fine for the meeting in Summer.”
Mor snorts and looks up at you, amused. When you raise an eyebrow, her smile drops into an incredulous expression. “You’re not serious.”
“I need to be there to discuss what I siphoned from that knife we found at the border of Dawn,” you say, holding up a hand and rushing out the rest of your words when Feyre opens her mouth to speak. “And Rhys promised me I would be there since it’ll be all the High Lords, Court informants and even soldiers. I couldn’t possibly not go.”
Feyre sighs, sensing that you’re not going to back down. She nods slowly, pointing at your plate. “Finish all of your breakfast and your lunch later on and then you can go.”
You let out a breath, feeling nauseous when Rhys slides your plate closer to you and simply shrugs when you glare at him. Traitor, you speak to him in your mind. He suddenly becomes very interested in a strawberry.
“Watch me,” you say confidently, waving your fork at Feyre who rolls her eyes at you and goes back to her own breakfast.
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Summer court is your least favourite court at the best of times, though you’d never admit that to sweet and kind Tarquin, who’s arguably one of your favourite High Lords.
The beautiful, shimmering lagoons aren’t of interest to you as large bodies of water have always unsettled you. The warm breeze that everyone welcomes always reminds you of the times you had to suffer through sweltering heat when foraging for food with Feyre in your adolescence. You’ve always preferred a colder climate and appreciated a more muted daylight.
Considering your current health, the ripples in the water make you dizzy and the light salty breeze nearly brings your breakfast and lunch up.
You’re thankful for the sheer, thin material of the sage coloured dress that Nuala and Cerridwen chose for you because you suddenly feel a sheen of sweat covering your body.
“Are we done sightseeing?” you ask weakly, desperate to be inside already.
Elain turns to you and winces. “You don’t look too good….”
“Aw, thank you, Elain.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she tuts, coming over to fan your face with her hands. You swat them away, sputtering and try to catch Rhysand’s attention to move things along. He reluctantly agrees and gestures everyone to move along, too used to your aversion to Summer.
As you all enter the palace made of gleaming marble, you hang further back to avoid the watchful eyes of Feyre who seems to be waiting to send you right back home to rest.
The palace is beautiful and you push down your nausea to look around and take in the tall arched windows. The jewelled embellishments adorning the frames trail higher and higher and you crane your neck to see them.
This turns out to be a mistake when your vision starts to blur and another wave of nausea causes your steps to falter, the world tilting sharply.
A firm hand grips your elbow in an all too familiar fashion, steadying you before you’re sent flying to the ground. Another hand settles around your waist where the cutout of your dress exposes your now damp skin, glittering with sweat.
You look up and find Eris’ amber eyes locked onto your own.
“Foolish,” he mutters, his voice sharp with irritation, yet his hands remain steady in their position, holding you up. It’s the first word he’s uttered to you since your encounter a couple of weeks ago in the Spring Court where he’d left on frosty terms. You had seen him twice since then, but it was in the middle of meetings and siphoning sessions and he had barely spared you a single glance.
Your lips part but your senses are too overwhelmed to think of a response before he carries on, lightly shaking his head at you. “You overexert yourself all week and then travel here? What are you trying to prove?”
“I’m fine,” you manage to say, pulling away from him, but his grip only tightens. You can’t help glancing around and noticing that the growing crowd of all the Court officials has separated you from the Inner Circle. You huff out a breath as you register his words. You knew Rhysand had to communicate with the other High Lords with updates, but you didn’t know that included your physical state. “Gods, High Lords are such gossips…”
“You’re not fine,” he says, scowling like you’ve dreadfully inconvenienced him by nearly collapsing. His gaze flickers over the pallor of your skin and the way you’ve started to shiver slightly. “You drained yourself dry this week. And for what? To impress Rhysand? To prove something to him?”
“Let go of me, Eris,” you attempt to snap at him, but even you can hear the lack of strength in your voice. His eyes soften slightly when you say his name without your usual bite. “I can’t have this same conversation with you when I’m like this.”
“You think I want to be the one always catching you from falling on your face? Trust me when I say I have things I would rather be doing,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes.
You grit your teeth at the reminder and heat flares in your cheeks, whether it’s from embarrassment, anger or the climate of Summer, you don’t know.
Before you can retort, Eris sighs and straightens you up, still not fully letting you go. Releasing the hand around your waist, he loops your arm in his own and makes you lean on him for support. To your utter surprise, he doesn’t say anything as he starts walking towards the meeting room where everyone else files in. Despite your frustration, you’re grateful for his strength.
The moment of blissful silence doesn’t last too long, however. As he begins to lead you to where your family is stood and clearly looking around frantically for you, Eris leans in to whisper in your ear. “You need to sit down at the table,” he orders quietly, High Lord behaviour on full display.
You’re about to argue that no one else is going to be sat and he immediately catches this, cutting you off. “Don’t be stubborn for once in your life,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear, making you shiver more than you already were. “Please?”
You quickly turn your head to meet his, shocked at the pleading in his voice. You didn’t realise how close this would bring your own face to his and words leave you. Thankfully, you’ve reached your family as you hear Cassian’s loud voice and it snaps you out of your little bubble.
“Finally!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “We were about to send a search and rescue team, thinking you’d finally collapsed.”
“Why didn’t you?” Eris asks, coldly.
Cassian merely rolls his eyes at Eris’ attitude and gestures at Azriel.
Feyre comes forward to take your other arm in hers and explains. “Azriel’s shadows informed us that you were with her, Eris.” She smiles warmly and sincerely at him and Rhysand nods at him in recognition of his actions. “Thank you for looking after my sister.”
Eris shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I foresee many falls in her near future that I’m sure I won’t be present for.”
Feyre’s mouth twitches, but she quickly smoothes her face into an expressionless one when you frown at her and she busies herself with disentangling you from Eris.
He takes a step back, dark and fiery hair catching the sunlight through the tall windows and glances at you once more, not breaking eye contact, yet his words are directed towards Feyre. “Just make sure she sits down. The Night Court doesn’t need a martyr,” he says drily, before walking away.
Your mouth goes dry at the double meaning in his words, but you can’t shake off the shock at seeing genuine concern in his eyes. You must have looked practically near death, but you appreciated it all the same and you don’t even realise your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away until Feyre sits you down next to Nesta.
Your older sister raises an eyebrow at you, always so intuitive and you swat weakly at her to look away from you. Cassian’s eyes flit back and forth between you two, confused.
Before he can say anything, the meeting commences and you feel a shift in the energy of the room, full to the brim of Court officials, emissaries, a few warriors and of course, the High Lords around the table.
Your turn to speak comes fairly quickly since the most information regarding the Rebels is from you and Azriel. As per Rhysand’s instructions, you don’t go into any details regarding your siphoning powers, instead just sharing the information you gained due to them. You try to ignore the way people are staring at your weak form, but you continue to speak with all the strength you can muster. Evidently, you’re doing a convincing job as people start to nod, satisfied and scribble things down.
When Azriel’s turn arrives, you zone out a little, already having heard everything a few times over. Your ears only perk up when everyone is discussing plans of action against the Rebels and a question is asked in your general direction.
“Who are we thinking is to be at the front lines of this hypothetical mission?” The question comes from one of the Spring Court advisors, Vaelith, an older Fae with silver hair gathered in one long braid down his back.
His gaze lingers on you for only a split second before moving onto Rhysand and you feel compelled to answer. “Myself and Azriel,” you blurt out, before you can think twice. “And others of course, but the two of us are the most familiar with-”
“We’re all aware of the Shadowsinger’s abilities,” Vaelith interrupts you, holding up a hand to stop you from talking. You hold back a scowl. “What makes you suitable to lead such a mission aside from your… familiarity with a selection of items left behind by these Rebels?”
“I’m more than able to-” you cut yourself off and swallow, gaining yourself a second to think of a way to defend yourself without giving away your powers, as per your High Lord’s request.
Careful, Y/N
Rhysand’s voice sounds clear as day in your head and you try not to wince at the volume considering the silence of the rest of the room. The other High Lords knew of your powers, but Rhysand had requested they keep it to themselves, even from their own Court officials. Whether or not Rhysand had used his Daemati abilities to ensure this, you didn’t want to know.
“I’m more than able to assist in a plan of action,” you continue firmly, voice hardening. “I’m not sure if you remember a certain War we just had, but you may wish to remind yourself who was at the front lines of that.”
A few laughs break the tense silence and some people start muttering, slowly raising the volume of the room. You almost don’t hear Vaelith’s next words. “You haven’t really answered my question.”
“Let’s use our senses, Vaelith,” a voice rings out from further down the table and you’re startled to realise that Eris is speaking up. The room finally quietens down and you sit up impossibly straight, surprised that Eris is about to defend you.
You couldn’t be more wrong.
He only spares you a fleeting glance, but even from your seat you could see it’s full of amusement and mocking. The thing that surprises you is that the mocking is directed at you. “Look at her. Are you really questioning the abilities of a female who barely has the strength to sit up in her seat, let alone fight?”
Your stomach drops, a ball of humiliation unfurling in your chest as he continues to speak.
“I’d like to believe Rhysand has more sense than to send someone on the frontlines who would just be doing the rebels a favour,” Eris drawls, raising an eyebrow at Rhys, still avoiding your gaze.
Rhysand nods. “I can assure you I’ll only be sending my strongest soldiers, Vaelith,” he smirks, faintly, as though the implication he’d do anything to suggest otherwise is laughable. “Now may we discuss matters of actual importance? Tarquin, what have your soldiers been preparing?”
The tension dissolves almost immediately, but you’re still shellshocked, shaking with anger rather than weakness now. It’s as though you’ve been pumped with a burst of adrenaline and it doesn’t seem to be dampening.
After the conversation has shifted to a completely different subject, you shift from your seat as discretly as possible and mutter to Nesta that you need some air before standing up.
You look at the High Lord of Autumn before you walk away, but it only infuriates you more. Eris doesn’t look anywhere near you, but his jaw is clenched all the same, as though he can feel you glaring at him.
Mor catches your arm as you’re walking out and hisses in your ear. “You’re still not well,” she turns her body fully towards you. “Wait for me to come with you.”
“Don’t worry,” you say, shaking your head and clenching your fists to keep them from trembling as you speak through gritted teeth. “I feel suddenly energised. I’ll only be outside.”
Mor gives you a once over and is clearly satisfied with the fact that you’re unlikely to collapse again as she nods and releases your arm, allowing you to rush through the crowd of people and push through the guards.
You walk briskly away from the doors of the meeting room and further down the empty hallway until you’re satisfied that no one will hear your heavy breathing.
You lean against a pillar, exhaling in and out to control your anger and keep the tears at bay. Gods, you feel so stupid. Of course, Eris is incapable of being a decent male to anyone, let alone to you. Damn him and his cruel smirk and damn Rhysand too for allowing it to happen.
Brushing away the tears that have managed to fall, you curse yourself for not just pushing him away and allowing yourself to collapse on the hard marble flooring. It was giving you whiplash the way he could be so full of concern one second and practically call you useless in front of a room full of officials the next.
The longer you stand against the marble pillar, the weaker you begin to feel and that burst of adrenaline you previously felt is no longer present. The anger that fuelled you mere seconds ago is now winding you and a rising sense of panic begins to consume you.
You decide to turn around to walk back so you’re closer to the doors of the meeting room in case you embarrassingly do collapse.
However, the second you take a step, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye is all the warning you get before strong arms clamp around you from behind and a cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, preventing you from breathing. You can’t even scream as the scent of something strong and chemical floods your senses, making your vision blur.
You thrash around in an attempt to use the little strength you have left to escape, but the arms only grip you harder and the world begins to spin. The last thing you feel is the cool marble floor as your knees give out and no one bothers to catch you as you hit the ground, darkness swallowing you whole.
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endereies ¡ 19 hours ago
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Reader has been playing hard to get but then he stops chasing and she wonders if she played too hard to get
HARD TO GET - CS
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No Nut November - Day 25
NNN Masterlist...
-➤ After months of playing Chris, he had enough
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Denial
That’s all it ever was. God, it hurt the pair of you, but it was too addictive not to let go just yet. The feeling of being wanted but it was ever so slightly out of reach.
You and Chris had been an angelic pair, a match made in heaven. Anyone on the street thought you two were a couple, the hand-held touch was sign no.1. He wanted you so badly, and he had you. Almost.
He often found himself waking up besides you, wondering how even the sleep couldn’t tousle your beauty. He savoured those moments because it wasn’t long before your fists pushed back his chest, his heart further away from you. The day went as normal after that, except he couldn’t ignore the skipped heart beats.
He often found himself viewing your body wrapped in his fabric from his closet. It wasn’t anything special, just an old hoodie he thrifted a while ago. But it was his favourite, not because the material was soothing on his skin, but because you borrowed it the most.
He often found himself staring at you, normally while you did makeup before a party. Even though he didn’t take long to get ready, he was guaranteed to do it before you even started. That way he could admire the techniques of your makeup as you taught him the names of each product. He never understood how holding your mouth open helped mascara apply better but who was he to judge.
From an outside perspective? They were perfect for each other. From an inside perspective? It was complicated. He spent countless times with you in his arms after a fight with your parents only for you to continuously act like it didn’t happen. He couldn’t do it like you could. So he waited like a desperate and lonely puppy.
He was addicted to your affection towards him, and it would kill him when you pushed him away. There were nights where he would stay up all night, wondering what he had done wrong to receive you’re short and cold attitude. He missed having you in his arms, talking about anything that comes to mind. He missed your beautiful laughing and smiles, those things always brightened his day.
He promised himself that he wouldn’t get caught up in this feeling but once the infatuation seeped through, he never planned on making it stop. He desperately waited for the day where you would come to him, begging for him to hold you in his arms again. Wanting him to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you lay in his lap, and gently runs his hand on your hair and face while you stare at each other. He craved those moments, and he hated that you stopped that. What was he doing wrong? Why didn’t you crave his touch, or love like he did. Why did you act like nothing ever mattered…
The truth was that you did, badly. You had this perfect situation planted in your head. You’d push yourself close to him, tangled in the lie of ‘friendship’ taunting him. In your head it was a build up to eventually make Chris tell you how he felt. It was stupid, like a poorly written novel that had a script. A script that couldn’t be moulded into the already written fate lines. You couldn’t change a script that was already published.
Several months had gone by with no progress.
Parties were often a place of relaxation, the stench of alcohol on everyone’s lips. Not yours, you knew better. So did Chris. He didn’t another sign of familiarity between you two. He knew them all like the back of his hand.
The whole room had started to reek now with a mixture of drugs as the air grew thick. That’s when you covered up with Chris’ jumper once more, his smell was comfortable to breathe in, lighter. You’d been sipping mindlessly on a mocktail or two before Chris sauntered through the door to the kitchen. You felt your heart hitch and you had to drag your gaze to your drink, swirling the straw lazily. You knew what had been happening recently. You weren’t a fool. It was obvious the way Chris looked at you. You’d forced yourself away in hopes of making yourself more desired, in hopes he’d make the first move.
He wasn’t stupid. He saw the batted eyelashes and twisted words; he hated how sweet your voice was to him. It was the same as always, playing into his feelings, a taste of what he wanted before you got drunk and ran off with another guy. When that happened once more that night, he could’ve sworn he felt a heart string snap in his chest, his jaw gritting. The red solo cup in his palm quickly contained a shot of whiskey before it slammed on the bar table.
When you found your number blocked by Chris the next morning, you were positive it was the hangover playing tricks on you. He wouldn’t block you, he couldn’t block you.
‘contact me when you know how you feel about me.’
‘I cant play your stupid game anymore.’
‘cya kid’
Fuck. Maybe it was one time too many.
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@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyamitchell-blog @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @slutf4rmatt @flouvela @lovesturni0l0s @2prcntmilkluvr @ribread03
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Š ENDEREIES 2024
87 notes ¡ View notes
tgmsunmontue ¡ 2 days ago
Text
2k Hangster - lovers to enemies to lovers.
                There are heavy indents in the carpet, the dust is so thick it’s almost become a felted layer beneath the bed and along the edge of the wall, as well as between the bedside table and bed base. Sure enough though, caught between the headboard support and bed base is a little black box, covered in dust. His phone is just to the other side and he picks it up, sliding it onto the bedside table without even bothering to look at the time.
                It’s a ring box.
                His first thought is that it must be his mom’s. This was her room before Ice and Mav repainted it and bought all knew furniture for him.
                So it can’t be hers.
                This was his room.
                He opens it and yeah, that’s a ring meant for a man’s finger.
                What the fuck.
I'm going to run rings around you forever if you let me
                Bradley’s lets out a sigh. He’s made multiple excuses not to come back, and the memories are more bittersweet than ever. This was his parent’s house, and then it was his and Jake’s little escape whenever they had time together between various deployments, spending time together and having as much sex as they possibly could before they parted again. He’d hoped that they could have made a serious go of it, but he knows now he was naïve to think he knew what he wanted when he was only twenty-eight. Not that he really knows now, five years later.
                He’s been back very sporadically, crashed on the sofa out of necessity, although he did change the sheets about three or four years ago. The house is musty and he walks around, throwing open all the windows and doors, watches dust kick up as he walks, the motes dancing in the rays of light making it look pretty. He turns the power on and carries out some basic checks; unattended there could be chewed wires or nests of all sorts.
                He strips the bed and chucks the sheets on to wash. Puts new sheets on although they smell just as musty. Hell. If he wants to actually live here he might want to consider buying a new bed and getting an entirely new linen cupboard, because he’s pretty sure there are holes caused by moths. He plugs in his phone to charge and falls asleep with the smell of mustiness tickling at his nose.
                When he wakes in the morning he reaches for his phone, wants to check the time because he suspects it’s far too fucking early to be awake. Of course he knocks it off the small bedside table and he grumbles under his breath and decides he can just go back to sleep. Later, when he wakes again, it’s a bit lighter but too dark to consider getting up. He reaches for the power cord and tugs like he’s bringing in a fish, and just like a fish his phone drops off the other end of the cord and he groans; rolls and reaches his hand down, fumbling for his phone.
                His fingers catch on something, and it’s hard, but it’s also not his phone. Damn it, he’s actually going to have to get on the floor and reach, maybe even find a torch to help him see what the fuck he’s doing. He feels around and the thing shifts and he has to tug it, can tell it’s a box of some sort and hopes like fuck it’s not connected to any wires and he’s not pulling out something that is meant to be wired into the wall.
                Deciding he better check before he accidentally electrocutes himself and becomes a nominee for the years Darwin Awards he turns on the bedside lamp and squints against the sudden light, can smell the dust on the bulb already starting to burn. Then he staggers to standing, shoves against the bedframe, which doesn’t budge but does make his legs feel a little bruised. It’s very fucking heavy. He remembers shifting his piano around by pushing it with his legs so he settles on the ground and pushes the base of the queen bed.
                There are heavy indents in the carpet, and the dust is so thick it’s almost become a felted layer beneath the bed and along the edge of the wall, as well as between the bedside table and bed base. Sure enough though, caught between the headboard support and bed base is a little black box, covered in dust. His phone is just to the other side and he picks it up, sliding it onto the bedside table without even bothering to look at the time.
                It’s a ring box.
                His first thought is that it must be his mom’s. This was her room before Ice and Mav repainted it and bought all knew furniture for him.
                So it can’t be hers.
                This was his room.
                He opens it and yeah, that’s a ring meant for a man’s finger.
                What the fuck.
…            …            …
~5 YEARS EARLIER
                He knows Jake doesn’t feel the same for him.
                Doesn’t have the same dreams of a future together.
                Is just enjoying being young and dumb and thinks that Bradley is a happy and willing partner.
                He is happy and willing.
                He just wants more.
                He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, building up the courage to do what needs to be done.
                To stop things, break things off, before he gets in any deeper.
                He suspects it’s too late, that he’s going to break his own heart.
                But rather he break his heart than allowing Jake to do it instead.
                He walks out to the kitchen and Jake turns to him with an easy smile and his heart is already breaking.
                “I don’t think we should do this anymore…”
                The smile slips from Jake’s lips, eyes which had he glinting with warmth are immediately shuttered and he’s straightening up.
                “Oh. Right then. Message received.”
                He leaves and Bradley hates it, but he can’t say anything else.
                He finishes off the bottle of bourbon and passes out, stumbling and drunk, wondering if it would have felt different if he’d waited and let Jake be the one to break his heart.
…            …            …
                He jerks back to the present and stares at the ring, pulls it out with trembling fingers and runs a fingertip over the cold smooth surface, gold glinting in the light from the bedside lamp. It’s wide, wider than he’d pick for himself, but he didn’t pick this for himself. The idea that Jake picked this out for him is impossible he refuses to consider it. He would have said something, surely, if he’s been…
                Been what?
                Been about to propose?
                He realizes he’s not been breathing, a little in shock and he sucks in a deep startling gasping breath as he just sits there and stares, turning the ring over and over between his fingers when he catches sight of the inscription inside. He has to pull it close, angle it just right to see it but he didn’t know his heart could break again.
                There’s an infinity symbol, then there are three more symbols etched in fine detail along the line and he angles it to catch more light so he can see it better. There’s a little paper plane and he smiles, remembers the paper planes Jake used to aim at his head to annoy him whenever he thought Bradley was taking himself too seriously.
                Then there is a little heart and the word you and his heart stutters and skips.
                No.
                Jake didn’t get this for him.
                He can’t have.
                It hasn’t been sitting here for five years.
                Gathering dust.
                He can hear a weird sound, a high-pitched whine and realizes it’s himself, making a pained noise and then he can feel tears slipping down his cheeks.
                He’d obviously been wrong.
                So wrong.
                Too late now.
                Still.
                He slips the ring onto the chain containing his dog tags.
…            …            …
                “Hangman… you look good.”
                He does look good, although he has sharpness to his eyes and a meaner twist to his lips than he remembers.
                He wonders how much he is to blame.
                “I am good Rooster. In fact I’m too good to be true…”
                The rest of the night does not go so well and Bradley tries to remind himself that he’s the one that broke it off with him, that if Jake is still feeling hurt after all this time then that’s his right.
                Bradley stops.
                If he’s still hurt, then there are still feelings to be hurt.
                Oh.
                It’s been six years now, and he wears the warm weight of the ring around his neck, a daily reminder of what he let slip through his fingers because he was too scared to ask.
                He’s not going to be too scared to ask a second time.
                He just has to wait for the right moment.
               And figure out what it is he wants to ask exactly.
…            …            …
                Of course the right moment doesn’t present itself, and instead they end up fighting.
                Again.
                Jake always knew how to push his buttons in the best and worst ways and clearly still does.
                Something has spooked Jake though, Bradley had seen it, and he doesn’t know what it was.
                “Bradshaw!”
                He turns, sees Jake striding toward him, mouth in a tight line.
                Unhappy and angry.
                Not a great combination.
                Then he’s standing in front of him and for a brief second he thinks Jake is going to punch him; instead he’s pulling out Bradley’s chain, fist going tight around the tags and… fuck.
                The ring.
                “Why are you wearing that? Now? After all this time?”
                “I only found it about a year ago.”
                “What?”
                “I found it a year ago,” Bradley repeats, swallowing roughly, because this is it.
                This is the moment.
                “A year ago?” Jake repeats, and he looks confused, which makes Bradley confused.
                Jake isn’t surprised he has the ring, more that he only found it a year ago…
                “Yeah. I’ve not exactly spent a lot of time at home. Actively avoided it some might say.”
                “Okay. But. Why are you wearing it?”
                “Reminder to not let go of the things that matter to me the most.”
                “You broke up with me Bradshaw,” Jake spits, and he’s close, fist still around Bradley’s tags, body taut with anger.
                “Yeah. I… I didn’t. I thought you were just… not that into me.”
                Jake is looking more confused, frowning at him.
                “You thought I wasn’t into you.”
                “Yeah. I was…” am he amends silently. “Very much into you.”
                “Wait… so. You didn’t break up with me because you didn’t want to get married?”
                Bradley closes his eyes and swallows against the threatening tears, shaking his head to answer because he can’t make words happen right now.
                “Jesus fucking Christ. We’re… we’ve… okay,” Jake says, and his hand is letting go, fingers spreading to pat comfortingly at Bradley’s chest, but he’s moving away and he doesn’t want that. Sways toward him, following him like Jake is true north and will always lead him home. “So. You really didn’t see the ring and then immediately break up with me…”
                “What?” Bradley asks, because he hadn’t thought about when Jake bought the ring, just figured that was where he’d hidden it. Not that it had been out somewhere for Bradley to see or find.
                “Yeah. Left it on your bedside table. Figured you’d either ask me what the hell I was thinking, or I could ask you when we went to bed…”
                His throat is tight and he doesn’t bother trying to stop the tears that want to spill over.
                “I’m sorry…”
                “Jesus Bradley. So am I… should have known I wasn’t wrong.”
                He lets out a hiccupping laugh at that, because if Jake had said anything back then their lives would likely be very different. However Jake has been living under the impression Bradley had rejected his wordless marriage proposal. No wonder he’s always been a bigger asshole to Bradley than anyone else. He'd always just put it down to being his ex-hookup. 
                “I’m sorry about being an asshole last week. At the Hard Deck.”
                “Mmm. Because I was such a peach.”
                Bradley snorts wetly, feels Jake’s hands settle on his hips, far more gentle and softer than he remembers; realizes that Jake is maybe unsure the touch will be welcomed. He presses his own hands over Jake’s, applies firm pressure and then runs his hands up Jake’s arms, loops his hands behind Jake’s head and lets his thumb stroke at the fine short hairs there. His stomach is in knots, suddenly nervous despite the certainty he knows logically applies.
                Logic can go fuck itself, it has no place in his stormy emotions right now.
                “I love you,” he says, his voice just above a whisper on an exhale.
                “Mmm. Good. Cause I love you too.”
                “You love me? Still?”
                “Of course. Never stopped. Made me spitting mad some days. I don’t go and buy rings for just anyone Bradshaw…”
                No, he supposes he doesn’t. Isn’t going to ask about what has maybe happened in the last six years. They don’t matter other than to remind him to hold onto Jake with both hands.
                “Now, I need you to listen to me very closely, because I have a very important question to ask.”
                “I’m listening.”
                “Good. Now… will you go on a date with me?”
                Bradley grins, can feel the heat flooding his cheeks and he can’t believe he feels so bashful when it’s Jake.
                “I’d love to. Uh. Do you want this back?” Bradley asks, slipping his pinky finger into the ring, meeting Jake’s gaze when he looks up from studying it.
                “Hmm. Not yet. I’ll let you know when you need to wear it somewhere else. Deal?”
                “Yeah. Deal.”
62 notes ¡ View notes
therealcocoshady ¡ 18 hours ago
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Hii
I lost my puppy recently, can you please write one where the reader is a bit depressed and Marshall gives her a puppy?
A/N : Hi Anon ! I’m so sorry about you losing your puppy ! I’m sending you tons of love 💕. I wrote a little something and I hope you like it !
Finding purpose 🐶
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« I dont know, » you’d said in that monotone voice of yours. « I just feel like… there’s no purpose. I have no purpose ».
After weeks of beating around the bush, Marshall had finally confronted you, and your answer broke his heart. You were the most vibrant person he had ever met, so full of life and laughter. But in the past few months, he had seen you decaying. Your laugh, once his favorite sound, seemed like a distant memory and he couldn’t tell the last time he’d seen you actually smile, no matter how hard he tried. You had become withdrawn, distant. Sometimes, he would at you and he could see stare into the abyss, as if your mind was miles away. But every time he would ask what’s on your mind, you would shrug it off.
His first instinct was to blame himself. Maybe he’d taken you for granted. It wouldn’t be the first time after all. He was never really good at keeping his longtime girlfriends entertained, his workaholic nature often taking over. But his best efforts to win you over with impromptu date nights and presents seemed to be in vain. Then, he tried asking your friends, but no one seemed to know what was going on. As far as they knew, nothing had happened. You were doing ok at work. Your family was fine. And as far as they knew, you didn’t have beef with anyone. So it was kind of a mystery. But still, the facts were there : you kept on withdrawing, keeping people at a distance. You were once the life of the party, but you barely went out anymore. Even keeping up with your text messages proved to be difficult. Yet, everyone was getting increasingly worried. They could see the dim smiles, the dark circles, the weight fluctuation… They all tried to be subtle about it, not wanting to be insensitive or too harsh. Until Marshall decided enough was enough.
You had ghosted him for three days. No phone, no text. Nothing. When he showed up at your place, he was immediately taken aback by your gaunt face and hollow eyes. You weren’t alright and he was done being subtle about it. You were curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees. You looked up as he let himself in, your eyes dull and tired. « Thank God I have your spare key » he sighed. « Otherwise, I would have called the cops to report you were missing ». You looked down, mumbling an apology. « We gotta talk » he declared in a voice that was a little sharper than he intended. You turned your head back to him, hough your eyes remained dull and distant. « About what? » you asked. He sighed and sat in the chair across you. « About you » he said. « About whatever’s been eating you alive for the past weeks. I’m tired of pretending like everything’s fine. You think I don’t notice ? You think I don’t see how different you’re acting ? »
Your jaw tightened and you looked away. « I’m fine, Marshall » you mumbled, though even you could tell how unconvincing you sounded. « Stop! » he snapped, his frustration evident. « You’re not fine. You’ve barely said more than five words to me in a day for the past three weeks! You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You don’t smile. And I’m sick and tired of pretending like everything’s ok when it’s clearly not ». His voice was getting louder and louder, his tone sharp and cutthroat. You couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes and, for a second, you were pretty sure you were going to lash out at him. But instead, your face crumpled and you let out a shaky breath. « I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Marshall » you whispered, your voice cracking. « I don’t know. I just feel like… There’s no purpose. I have no purpose. Like nothing I do matters. I wake up, and I don’t see the point of getting up. No purpose ».
Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood up and crossed the room in a few quick strides, taking a seat on the couch, right next to you. You tried to turn away but he gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. « Listen to me » he said, his voice low but steady. « You do have a purpose. You do matter. You matter to me. I don’t care what’s gong on in that beautiful head of yours, I’m not letting you drown in it. We’ll figure this out together. But you need to let me in and tell me how you’re feeling, babe ». You nodded, letting your tears spill over. « I don’t even know where to start » you quietly sobbed.
He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to anger in his embrace, instead of pushing him away after a couple of seconds. He held you against his chest, gently stroking your hair as you sobbed, letting out the storm that had been going on inside your mind, that was too much for you to put into words. You stayed like this for what felt like hours, Marshall never letting go of you, whispering sweet words of reassurance. « We just start here, Y/N. You and me. You’re not alone. I’m here. ». Eventually, exhaustion took over and you fell asleep, your head resting against his chest, your breath uneven but steady. But Marshall couldn’t follow suit. Your words kept on echoing in his mind. The way you said you don’t see the point of getting up, that you had no purpose… You had said it with such emptiness, like the thought had been carved into your very soul. He could see the pain, the suffering in your eyes. He could hear it in your voice. And he wished he could take it away, suffer in your place. All he wanted was to make you happy. You were the love of his life, a beautiful soul, and you deserved nothing but happiness. And he couldn’t sleep until he found a way to give it to you. Sadly, words wouldn’t do. He needed something more. Something real, tangible. Something that would bring back the light in your eyes.
And then, like a lightbulb flickering in the darkness, he had an idea.
The next day, your boyfriend found himself standing in the middle of an animal shelter. To say he was feeling out of his element would be the understatement of the year. He’d had a few pets in his day, but he had sworn off them a long time ago, arguing that they required too much work, too much energy. But maybe it was exactly what you needed. Something that would require work and energy, that would give you a reason to get out of bed. The sound of barking and meowing filled the air as he walked past rows pf cages. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it when he saw it. And he did. There was a small dog waddling inside one of the kennels, its stubbly legs moving unevenly. He had a misshapen ear that flopped to one side, a patchy coat that looked like it has seen better days and a back leg that didn’t quite work right. It wasn’t conventionally cute but it had the kind of charm that he knew would tug at your heart. He’d seen you at the market, picking up bruised apples and misshapen tomatoes, sad that nobody else would want them. He saw you pour your heart not the smallest things, believing they deserved love too. Hell, you had taken him in, of all people. That had to be the ultimate sign you didn’t mind things - or people - being a little broken.
He pointed the dog to the staff member that was with him. « That’s Ralph. This little guy came in a few months ago » she explained. « He’s got some mobility issues and… well, he’s not the first one people ask about but he’s a good one. Loves cuddles and, despite the leg thing, walks, too ». Marshall crouched down, holding his hand out. Ralph sniffed it tentatively, then licked his fingers before flopping over on its side, demanding belly rubs. Marshall laughed and indulged him. He could already picture you with him. « This is the one » he said with a smile.
When he got to your place, Ralph waddled awkwardly behind him, its tiny legs working double-time to keep up. He’d picked up a few essentials - a bed, food, a leash, a couple of toys - but he knew the dog wouldn’t need much to win you over. You were in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders. You looked up as Marshall walked in, your eyes tired but curious. « What’s going on? » you asked, your voice soft. Instead of answering, your boyfriend stepped aside, revealing the little dog, who waddled into view, its mismatched body moving with clumsy determination. You let out a gasp, sitting up straight as the dog barked once, a cheerful and awkward sound that definitely matched his appearance. « Marshall…? What…? » you whispered, hands flying to your mouth.
« I heard what you said, » he told you, his voice steady but gentle. « About not having a reason to get up in the morning. And I figured maybe this little guy could help with that. » He gestured to Ralph, who was now sniffing the corner of the coffee table. « He’s not perfect. He’s got a bum leg and kind of a funky look, but… I thought maybe you’d see him the way you see those lopsided peaches at the market. The ones you always say deserve love, even if no one else thinks so. » Tears filled your eyes, spilling over as you slid off the couch to kneel on the floor. The dog trotted over to you, tail wagging furiously, and licked at your hands. You laughed through your tears, scooping the little guy into your lap and cradling him like he was the most precious thing in the world.« He’s perfect, » you whispered, your voice trembling. « Absolutely perfect. » Marshall knelt beside you, watching as you showered your new friend with affection. « He’s yours, » he said. « And he’s gonna need you. You’ll have to help him get around sometimes, maybe even carry him when he’s having a rough day. But I thought… I thought you could take care of each other. »
You looked up at him, eyes filled with gratitude and something else—something that had been missing for too long. Hope. « Thank you, » you said, your voice thick with emotion. « I… I don’t even know what to say. » He gave you a smile and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. « You don’t have to say anything. Just get up tomorrow morning and love him. That’s it ».
46 notes ¡ View notes
embersofnovember ¡ 2 days ago
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I LOVE YOU,
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DON'T ACT SO SURPRISED.
remy lebeau x gn!reader
summary: you’ve only been a member of the xmen for a little over two months, yet remy’s already made it feel like a week.
warnings: tooth rotting fluff, remy’s a bully, justice for kurt!!, a lotttt of kissing, affectionate themes in general, no angst (for once?), a horrendous attempt at remy’s accent, idk what else
wc: 1312
notes: ignore how i died for a month or two but anyways i watched manchester by the sea the other day and i’m still wrecked
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living in the x mansion is something you never imagined for yourself in the future, but never find yourself regretting. hidden away in the greenery, tucked away nicely, mutants roaming freely without the worry of being seen differently on their conscience. almost hidden in plain sight.
in a sense, it’s a better home than anyone else has ever had.
you’ve been living there for almost two months. it was hard to get used to at first, especially since you thought you were the only one—but, seeing everyone so calm, so happy and carefree certainly did make your heart soak itself in warmth. everyone greeted each other open arms.
mutants are normal. not everyone could read minds, or teleport, or move things with their mind, but some could, and you feel as though you’ve finally found a place that wants you.
there’s basketball matches on the court every other day. you and storm bake together. scott keeps a secret stash of liquor in his room, away from the kids and out of reach from logan, who will tear the place down in search for it if he ever found out there was any in the four walls you all call home. occasional movie nights, and you all took turns cooking dinner.
and some nights, when remy would come home from a mission, and would be a little too tired to walk to his room which was a little too far, you find him in your bed, with his head in your lap and your fingers tangled in his hair.
remy doesn’t have much shame.
it’s sweet little gestures the two of you indulge each other in. a slow process that happens more and more frequently as the days pass. things like fixing each other’s hair, catching each other’s stares from across a crowded room. he lets you win in every card game (kurt hates it—favouritism!). you let him sleep in your bed with the innocent price of either of you soothing the other. you take turns. whoever needs it more, or sometimes you just let each other tangle your legs and arms, and simply whisper to each other like you’re exchanging secrets.
you could get used to this. it’s a nice life, a life with a stark difference to the one you harboured mere months ago. sure, there were times, and you had your moments, but you were getting better.
you could get used to this. a life of domesticity that you couldn’t imagine before. october settles, similar to the cold in your skin, but you aren't thinking about that.
“oh, no,” remy tuts, shaking his head with a disapproving click of his tongue. he points metal tongs at kurt’s confused figure, and clicks them together twice. to this, kurt’s eyes widen. he isn’t even two steps into the kitchen.
“banned from de kitchen, oui? away, mon ami.”
you, however, had already gotten used to this.
“i didn’t even do anything!” kurt shouts defensively, german accent thick with frustration. remy near cuts him off with a groan, incessantly and impatiently clicking away with the tongs in kurt’s direction as he walks past.
“me an’ de lovely lady are busy,” he says. his eyes pivot over to you, sitting on the counter with your legs dangling over the edge, busying yourself with stirring the sauce in the pot remy had forgotten about.
“all i would like is a drink,” kurt remarks, more under his breath than to both you or remy. his tail sags behind him as he walks, bush of hair covering the better part of his eyes as he walks past you, giving a quiet nod and that small smile.
already used to the antics between the two best friends, you learnt it was better than to interfere a long time ago.
before kurt extends out a hand to open the fridge, remy’s already shoving him into a headlock and affectionately scratching kurt’s scalp. as dramatic as kurt is, and as if this isn’t a common occurrence for him, he still yelps. he sounds distressed every time it happens, and each time you can’t help but laugh.
remy, of course, is all grins and dimples. when he lets go of the poor guy, he doesn’t stop. “thought you knew better than to come into de kitchen when i’m cooking, mm?”
“no,” kurt muttered in exasperation. a sour look adorns his features as he turns his back and opens the fridge (without interruption, this time), though you can’t hold the conscious thought that maybe kurt really had thought he’d been safe for a second. his accent gets thicker when he’s flustered. “nein, too many people love here for you to be hogging the kitchen!”
the look that remy sent kurt had a giggle bubbling from the back of your throat. then, his attention is on you. remy’s eyes snap from kurt’s to yours, raising a teasing eyebrow.
“you find dis funny, chére?”
uh oh.
your smile, mere a twitch of the corners of your mouth, disappears completely. expecting the similar fate kurt had been given, you scramble for an excuse.
“no, why would i? that’s—“
kurt slips away with a canned beverage before the other can notice. remy advances towards you with his signature pair of tongs, clicking them together with a taunt and a raised eyebrow. there’s the click shut of the fridge, the sizzle of frying fat and remy’s dreamy, dopey grin.
your fate is already sealed. letting out a sigh in resignational defeat, you think just maybe kurt had been spared.
“—that’s stupid.”
“is it now?”
“mm,” your hum, coupled with a few encouraging nods and a smile you slowly can no longer hide, remy’s in front of you before you can blink. a tender hand is brushing a stray hair out of your eyes.
the truth is, remy has never been so badly whipped for anyone in his entire life. he loves you with all of his heart. in the way that his nose accidentally brushes against yours, in the way you enjoyed playing with his hair, in the way he kisses the different expanses of your face repeatedly until he breaks a grin out of you.
like right now.
“rem, you’re cooking,” you remind him, attempting to hold a sense of firmness in your tone as he places a series of kisses along the tip of your nose to the bridge. you were xmen: you were supposed to be responsible.
remy is anything if not responsible.
“i ain’t gon’ burn the house down,” he chides between a kiss on your cheek, tone gravelly and thick with his cajun accent. “you ever known gambit to burn his precious meals?”
“well, what about the other day when—“
he cuts you off with a kiss on your lips. it’s a brusque action, but it’s one you’ve adapted to, one that no longer surprises you, and one you reciprocate with minimal ease. you laugh once, and he pulls away. then, he goes in again and you playfully slap his chest.
“remy!”
he lets out a groan of faux annoyance, landing one final peck on your forehead before he reluctantly steps away to go back to his place at the stove, where he’s fiddling with his beignets with a now concentrated brow.
he is always there. an enigma in the pearls of his teeth, a rose in a bush of thorns.
“‘m just saying, chére,” he starts, eyes narrowing with concentration. then a groan when he flips the pastry to find they’re more golden and caramelised than he would like to admit.
“that i’m right?” you tilt your head, hands balanced on the edge of the counter as your legs swinging mindlessly. to say you felt a little smug is more true than otherwise.
if you were anyone else, remy would’ve turned around and glared at you. instead, he just laughs.
“touché, chérie.”
masterlist!!
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mrs-kodzuken ¡ 2 days ago
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hard to desire ⨟ kenma k.
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chapter eight
bj lips love potions ft princess paparazzi
❝Undress me, caress me
I just want you to fuck me
My love can't take it no more
Gotta cast it on you❞
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Knowing that Kenma left you and didn't even send so much as a text message made you feel a bit queasy in your stomach. You both spent the entire night together, even with a few good days leading up to it, and yet he still went ghost.
To you, it made no sense whatsoever. From the beginning, you both started off on the wrong foot, and now, when you finally felt that everything was getting better, he goes off the grid.
There was a permanent frown on your face and a hurtful feeling in your chest when you came back to the shared apartment that day.
After checking on a few of your neighbors in the apartment complex and verifying that staying in them was safe now, you finally went in.
That stupid gas leak caused a really good night between you and Kenma, and you couldn't help but to let yourself smile as you reminisced about the few hours before.
However, inside the apartment was strange because there was no sound at all. With Kuroo gone with his friends and Kenma nowhere to be found, it felt eerie.
Turning on the living room TV for background noise, a couple lamps as well, and starting on baking a recipe that Kenma had shared with you, you finally felt better about being in here by yourself.
You never really enjoyed the silence, ever; it always seemed deafening and always made you feel a bit anxious and panicky.
When the kitchen timer declared the homemade sweet bread from Kenma's recipe was done, you tried it and wanted to meet the woman herself because it was beyond delicious.
You sighed, stopping your chewing. Being alone was fine, but you hated being alone with no one there to talk to or annoy either. You would've thought that being an only child would have prepared you to not feel this way and learn how to be by yourself, but it never worked.
Deciding to rot on the couch for a little, you grabbed your blankets and pillows with a good show put on, and little did you know, you were slowly drifting off to sleep.
You awoke after a few hours passed by; the TV was long off, having shut down by itself after so much time of inactivity. You felt hot—unbearably hot; the blankets you were cuddled up with earlier had damn near suffocated you.
The cool wetness of your clothes stuck to your legs and lower back.
Oh, how you hated waking up like this after a nap; it was frustrating and left you feeling woozy.
Getting up on wobbly legs, you made it to the kitchen to gulp down a large glass of water, and that's when you noticed the time. 6:00pm shined brightly on the oven timer; sleeping for the whole day wasn't something you expected for today, but it happened.
You eventually found your phone, ignoring every message that wasn't from Kenma or your parents. You groaned, throwing yourself back onto the couch, pushing the blankets down to the other side with your feet.
A dull sleep headache causing you pain, adding onto the fact that Kenma hadn't even sent you one measly text, had made it worse altogether.
Quite frankly, you missed him; you missed him a lot. You swallowed hard, not wanting to dwell too much on those particular feelings because you could tell with the way that your heart started to dully give off throbbing pains.
Deciding to distract yourself by cleaning was always a good choice to help you; it's always helped your mind because you were physically doing tasks.
After cleaning the living room again because of your mess, the kitchen, laundry, and bathroom were all done. However, you got curious yet again about Kenma's room and took your gloves off to push his bedroom door open.
It looks just like how it was last, but with him not home, you could actually look through his room and not feel his beady eyes on you watching your every move.
You got excited; the thrill of snooping through the bedroom of a guy you liked was a bit stirring. You've liked his room from the first time you went in, of course, and even the time before that.
You tip-toed in, having a feeling you might get caught if you don't hear the front door open. You look around, your heart basically in your throat. You loved the feeling of the thrill this gave you.
You first went to Kenma's bedside table; on the top there was a stray hairband, a hairbrush, and tissues, as well as a half-full glass of water. You raised a brow; that was seemingly normal enough; you cheekily smiled mischievously and opened the drawer.
You gasped when you saw a pack of condoms in his bedside drawer.
You hadn't expected Kenma to have those because you figured he didn't have a girlfriend. Your face heated up when you touched the box to move it and look at the other stuff in there. You saw some vitamins, daily supplements, and a few personal items of paper that you weren't going to touch.
Your eyes drifted back to his pack of condoms. Does he have one-night stands or something? The thoughts were endless, but you had to remind yourself that he wasn't your boyfriend, so whatever he did with those condoms was his choice.
With a sharp inhale, you exited his room, making sure you left everything just the way it was before you came in here.
Heading to your room, you decided to read for a little to pass the time. He would have to eventually come home, right? You would wait for him, wanting to confess your feelings; the more you waited, the more the anxiousness bubbled in your stomach.
Thinking about Kenma was easier than trying to anticipate when he would be home.
However, the more you thought about Kenma, the way his warm, larger frame felt against yours last night, and his eyes... oh, how his eyes became glaringly sharp when he’s pissed.
All of that causes the predicament you’re in now, with your hands between your legs, eyes tightened shut, and covers pushed to the end of the bed.
Your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans to no one’s ears in particular; you were home alone after all.
Your heat was throbbing, desperate for more than just the showerhead, more than the pleasure that you can get from your short fingers.
Being cursed with stubby fingers had caused a predicament that you could never reach that good spot inside of yourself, and so you resulted in finishing by playing with your clit.
You never thought that you’d actually be masturbating to the thought of Kenma, then again, you remembered that he did the same way before you both had developed this tension between you. You’d give anything to grind against him, to tease him for the way he’s treated you before.
You were losing it, back arching off your bed; your fingers worked diligently to help you aid in reaching for that orgasm you needed badly.
Kenma, coincidentally, was on his way home at 8:00 p.m. on the dot. After thinking about whether he would ignore this heightened feeling inside of him till he either A) moved out or B) graduated, he knew that he couldn't do that.
Safe to say that Kenma fell for you, and of course he already knew that deep inside but would never, ever admit it for something so dumb and petty that it physically made him cringe at himself.
Hoping to help aid in his apology, he bought you an iced seasonal coffee and a little sweet treat to help you not be in any negative mood towards him.
It was like he felt guilty all over again, thinking back to when he scared the daylights out of you and caused you a horrible nightmare. Only this time, he basically stood you up for an entire day because he wasn't certain about the feelings his heart was telling him, only due to the fact that they clashed with his mind.
Taking a deep breath and preparing for the night, Kenma unlocked the apartment door with his key. However, he was not expecting to hear loud, high-pitched moaning noises coming from your bedroom upstairs.
Kenma froze, the worst-case scenario coming to mind, which was that you were having an intimate moment with another person because you decided that he was waiting too long.
However, the more he waited to hear something to give off any details, there were no beds creaking or slamming against the wall, and there were no other moans/groans besides yours.
He was about to step out and send you a text that he was on his way because maybe that would dull the pink in his face, or maybe it would give him enough time to have his dick go down if he stood outside in the cold.
Before he could even open his phone, he heard a soft meowl of his name from upstairs, from your bedroom upstairs.
The mixture of chills and need rushed down his spine as he set everything down on the living room coffee table. Slowly making his way upstairs, you were unbelievable loud, yet he couldn't stop the feeling of wanting to hear more, wanting to see, wanting to feel.
Kenma tried to be as quiet as possible, the ache in his lower half becoming more of a nuisance by the second. His eyes almost bulged out of his head when he realized your door was halfway opened; no wonder he heard you so clearly.
Every light was off upstairs, with the exception of your pink lamp and TV that was playing a random show. It cast a beautiful glow on your skin as Kenma peeked around the corner of your doorframe; he hoped to God that you couldn't see the way he was being a pervert for you.
His eyes glowed with a need to please you; he watched carefully as your fingers were vigorously working hard to give you pleasure. His brows furrowed when he realized you weren't touching your hole at all.
That in itself made him curious; of course your fingers were wet; they even looked sticky, and Kenma wondered what your slick tasted like.
Kenma couldn't help but stare at you; he's never seen you naked before, and God, you looked fuckable, not to mention alluring with the way your body hypnotized him.
He stalked the way your body moved with every twirl of your fingers around your clit; your eyes were shut tightly, your other hand underneath your shirt, toying with your nipple.
It was an erotic sight, and Kenma could tell from the shallow thrust of his hips against his hand that he was bound to come soon. It was something so little, but watching someone like you in all your glory, he couldn't help himself.
He watched the slight ray of tears that were in your lash line; he wondered how long you've been at this and how long you've been without it. He knew with the way you started thrashing and your hips started to buck that you were going to come soon.
The moans you let out were so angelic, he wanted to break them so badly. With a few more thrusts and hearing his name on your lips once more, Kenma came inside of his pants.
After taking a few moments to catch his breath and collect himself, as well as getting one last peek of you, you looked so precious and worked yourself so hard because of him, and if he just owned up to his feelings, he could've done that for you.
Silently, going back downstairs because it would make too much noise to go into his room and change out of his pants and underwear for clean ones. Kenma decided to pretend he just got home and didn't just come to the sight of you toying with yourself.
With a few loud movements of his keys and the door shutting rather loud, he figured that was enough since your door was open after all.
Kenma tried to make himself seem normal enough, getting a drink out of the fridge and switching the living TV to something more so he would watch. However, ignoring the spurts of cum that were in his pants was a bit hard, as it felt uncomfortable after so long.
After a few more moments, you came downstairs, calling for him, and his body responded delightfully to your voice.
"Kenma? Are you home?" You called, coming down the steps. When you heard the front door shut, you rushed to get up and close your bedroom door and fix yourself as quick as possible.
"Yeah, I'm home." He paused, getting up from the couch.
"I got you a coffee and a muffin." He said, sounding apologetic, and you could only guess that he was apologizing for the ghosting shenanigans of today.
"Thanks, Ken... Where were you, by the way? I haven't seen or heard from you since I left this morning for breakfast. And then you just leave, shoulder-check me, and don't even say sorry." You asked confused, not liking this wishy-washy he was treating you with.
It hurt and made you confused in your own feelings, especially after masturbating to him.
Kenma's eyes glazed over as he was thinking of what to tell you.
“I'm...sorry, Y/n. I didn't know that I bumped into you, and for leaving without saying anything, as well as worrying you." Kenma sighed, not really sure what to say without saying that he likes you a lot.
You felt skeptical about his words, but there would probably be more later; after all, it was just the two of you here.
"It's all fine. I know you probably have things going on, and so I won't pester about it. I'm glad you're back though, I  misunderstood. Your eyes widened when you realized what you were about to tell Kenma—you've never told him that you've missed him before.
Luckily, your stomach grumbled, and that's when you realized that you haven't eaten since the hotel's breakfast this morning.
Kenma cracked a smile, which made your eyes light up at the sight. "Let's order in, okay? How does Mexican sound?" He asked with a smile, making your heart skip a beat.
You nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good." You were grateful for Kenma, not realizing that he always thinks about you. Whether you have eaten or need to eat, your needs when you get scared, and even letting you use him as a safe place when you're feeling that way.
As he ordered for the both of you, you started to feel guilty because he was being so sweet, and you were just upstairs masturbating to him. God, you really were the worst, you thought.
"Can you answer the door? I'm going to go change really quick." Kenma asked of you, a slightly disgusted facial expression showing. You furrowed your brows but nodded anyways. It was no hassle for you.
When the food got to the apartment, you both decided on a movie that wasn't scary nor a child's movie per his request and to which you rolled your eyes.
Settling on a romantic comedy, it was interesting as you both ate the food he ordered. Sitting side by side on the couch with the food on the coffee table, you both were close, and even then, you wanted to be closer to him.
Watching a romantic movie with Kenma left your mind open to roam about confessing to him; you wanted to desperately but was afraid of how it could backfire. Then you got into your head about whether Kenma really even liked you.
You didn't even realize it, but the credits started to roll, declaring the end of the movie, and you finally got the courage.
"Um, I like you!" You blurted out, turning towards Kenma, cheeks-tinged pink, and food left untouched because you were so distracted by your mind.
Kenma took a sharp intake of air and eyed your face. "Are you sure that's not lust?" He raised a brow, and you frowned at him, hearing your confession go unnoticed and deemed as lust.
"No, I like you, Kenma, like romantically and maybe sexually too, but I like you, alright?" You felt frazzled, trying to clarify that you had a bit more than a crush on him and then some.
Kenma's eyes widened like he didn't expect you to flat out tell him that either, "But I was mean to you when we first met, Y/n. Don't tell me you're into that." He trailed off, veering away from you for the effect.
You gasped, the blush coming back from embarrassment. "Kenma, no! My God, if anything, you're the one who's into that. I mean, if you requite my feelings, that is." You asked shyly, not wanting to assume but also wanting to desperately know.
"I do'requite' them; fancy word you got there." He chuckled at you; it made you smile. Knowing that Kenma actually likes you back was exhilarating for everything you both have been through together.
"Wait, so why did you hate me when we first met? I was so nice to you." You questioned, feeling more comfortable with asking him these questions, leaning in more.
He seemed to keep his calm though when you started questioning the reason behind his actions, "Because you're cute, sweet, and girly. I didn't realize I liked that, and you bustlingly about everywhere and adding your touches in the apartment made it feel more like yours too and not just Kuroo and I's. It was hard, I guess." He thought about it more, not realizing that you almost short circuited when he called you cute.
"That... makes more sense now. I was trying to be so nice, and then you were just mean to me. Then I got fed up and started being rude as hell; I hated that." You laughed trailing off, thinking back to when you had that mutual feud going on between you both.
"Yeah, I actually wished I hadn't been like that towards you. I really just wanted to get closer to you but didn't know how and decided to unintentionally belittle you." He grimaced at his own actions, hating the way he treated you.
However, it was refreshing to see this side of Kenma; you loved how open he could be when he wanted to be.
The night trailed on with the both of you confessing the small and big moments throughout the weeks from when you moved in. You found out about how your big nightmare was single-handedly caused by Kenma, except the rainstorm bit.
You listened intently when you realized he was confessing to causing you hurt; you felt like your heart was bursting at the seams because of him. It felt nice inside to finally be able to talk with Kenma about the mishaps between you both and forgive one another.
Yawning, tears pricked your eyes as you covered your mouth. You tried to find a clock to check the time, but your phone must've fallen into the couch.
"It's practically two in the morning. I didn't mean to keep you up so late; you should go sleep, Y/n." Kenma, yet again, was looking out for you, but you never minded though.
"I think I should; I'll help clean up though. I forgot this is your usual, staying up so late, I mean." You mentioned gathering the empty dinner plates and putting them in the dishwasher.
"Mostly yeah, but I'm tired tonight because I barely got any sleep last night." He recalled, scratching underneath his ponytail of his head.
"Oh, right, I forgot about that. I'm sorry," You apologized yet again after you found out you were the reason Kenma had zero sleep last night. He really went all out with his confession, but yet you still had a sense that he was maybe guilty about keeping all of that inside.
As you both headed upstairs, you were quicker than him when he turned off the downstairs lights. You were faced with an option. Now, Kenma wasn't thinking, nor knew, about this so-called option, but you made a choice.
"Ken?" You called from your room, gathering your PJs, because you already assumed what he was going to say.
Followed back was a "Hm?" from Kenma himself.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" You asked, more quietly now, as if you were scared of what he would say.
Kenma paused, and for a good second you thought he was hesitating. "If you're sure."
You smiled all giddy and quickly changed into a large night tee and shorts, as usual. After a speedy night routine, you meet Kenma in his bedroom.
This felt much more intimate than it did in the hotel for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that you both agreed to sleep in the same bed, or maybe that you both know a budding relationship might start, or even that you both have seen each other in such a vulnerable, alluring state already.
Climbing into the silk-sheeted bed, you felt like you were in heaven; not only did you feel like you were going to sleep on clouds, but Kenma even had a heating blanket.
"Oh my God, I love your bed." You commented, happily rolling around in the sheets as he was too busy checking his monitors and turning them off.
"Thanks, it's good for my hair since I dyed it back in high school." He half smiled from what you could see with him turned around. It felt more comfortable being around Kenma like this; it was easy and comfortable.
When Kenma climbed into bed as well, that's when all comfort went out of the window. His larger frame climbed over you so he could lay by the wall, his usual spot when sleeping.
Everything was quiet for a few minutes, and you thought that he may have already fallen asleep, so when you turn over to your side facing away from him and lay on your back, you hear him shuffle.
"So... how was your orgasm?" His voice seemed like it was coming from directly by your ear; your face immediately flushed red, but it was barely seeable since it was dark in his room with the exception of your nightlight.
"... What? What do you mean, Ken?" You tried your best not to stammer and make it as even as possible. You were sure that the front door had opened when you were already done, right? You wracked your brain but couldn't remember because the sleep in your eyes was becoming too much.
"You remember the hotel? I figured you didn't connect the dots because you're a little sleepy, but I didn't get a wink of sleep. You made a confession, did you not?" Kenma's voice sounded different—huskier, filled with a need for something.
You froze until you felt his warm hand snake around the bed to find your waist.
"Yeah, I—um, I made a confession at the hotel..." You closed your eyes, not wanting to deal with the shame of Kenma knowing that you spied on him while he was masturbating—to you after all.
"You're so dirty, you know that, right? Such a dirty girl..." He trailed, massaging your love handle, "But you liked it, right? Is that why I came home to you, pleasuring yourself to the thought of me?" You could hear an ever so slight chuckle underneath his breath. Kenma was toying with you. And you liked it.
"I'm sorry, Kenma. I didn't mean to spy; I just heard, and then went to go see—I'm sorry." You pleaded, not sure what for, until he turned you around, facing towards him.
"Shh, no worries, it's okay, Y/n. Can I kiss you?" Kenma asked, his lidded eyes staring in your wide, needy, dilated ones.
You nodded, not sure what to say other than yes; your heartbeat was practically in your throat as you shook your head yes. He came closer; you felt his breath on your lips before he closed the gap and touched your soft lips with his own.
Kenma parted your lips with his tongue, swiping at the entrance, wanting to explore the inside of your mouth. He's waited for this moment since he first fell for you, and savoring this moment wasn't enough; he needed to conquer.
A rough hand came to the back of your head as he pushed you closer to him, his tongue furthering deeper in your mouth. You couldn't help but to moan out into the kiss, using your nose to breathe instead of breaking it for air.
You could feel the wetness between your legs, and the heat in your core began to stir. Kenma got restless and started to grip your clothes roughly; his breathing was uncontrolled and harsh, like he had been waiting for this his entire life.
Kenma abruptly broke the kiss with you; you whined and fisted at his clothes for more.
"Stop whining, Y/n. I need to know if you want this; you do know what is about to happen between us if you want to continue, right?" His yellow, cat-like eyes stared hard into yours; you could tell Kenma was restraining himself after you worked him up so much.
"I want, I do want this... I just haven't done this before, though, with anyone." You admitted, hoping he didn't think you were lame since he had that jumbo pack of condoms in his dresser drawer.
"I haven't done it either; I just know what I want and can tell what helps you feel pleasured and what doesn't." He coolly said, a hand snaking under your shirt; his eyes glinted when he found out you weren't wearing a bra.
"Ah! But those condoms... in your drawer? I had thought that maybe you have already done this before." You trailed, not meeting his eyes because you just confessed to snooping around in his room without him knowing.
"You little peek." He chided and lightly pinched your nipple, "Those are from Kuroo, a gag gift from my birthday, actually." He smirked and started placing small feather-like kisses on your jaw.
He needed to get you worked up if he wanted to ensure that you were prepped right for him.
"God," he groaned into your neck, "I've wanted you so badly." He couldn't help but to leave little marks as well; from now on, you would be his.
"Me too; I've wanted you so, so badly, Ken." You whined, arching your back as he lifted your shirt and sucked on your nipples, effectively causing your thighs to rub against one another, ensuring that his plan was working.
You have never experienced something like this, and it made your body feel burning hot and your core throb. Kenma, on the other hand, was experienced to a certain extent due to the internet, manga, and having friends that are guys.
Either way, the achingly painful throb of your core demanded to be filled with every lick and slight tug of your nipples that Kenma was doing.
"You really like your nipples to be played with, my little dirty girl, don't you?" His groaned out into your ear, whilst his magic hands kept working their way on your tender breasts.
His hand snaked down to your panties, effectively slipping them off of your legs, the build up from his playing with your nipples was getting to you, making you extremely eager for the next stage. 
“Are you ready for this?” His piercing eyes couldn’t break away from yours as his middle finger slipped inside your wet heat. It was…strange to say the least, a low moan spilling from your mouth when you felt the pleasure of him moving his digit in and out of you.
His long finger was such a pleasuring break from your short, stubby ones.
Soon after Kenma watched your expressions precisely, he added another finger, keeping it simple as he could feel the tightness from even just that. Your face winced until he slowly started thrusting his fingers into your cunt, slightly curling them to prepare you for what will come afterwards.
“You’re being so good for me,” Kenma whispered, never taking his eyes off of the way your body started to join in with the rocking of his hand, your hips becoming in sync with how badly you wanted more.
Soon, your back was already arching off of his bed, the sight beckoned his dick, which was already painfully throbbing and awaiting your warm hole to fill. 
"Ken,” your voice came tumbling out roughly, “Oh God, I can't—I can't, plea—ah! Stop." You cried, the feeling of your usual pleasure was building in your core but this time, Kenma could reach that one singular spot which had you seeing stars.
His hands didn’t stop inside of you, and quite frankly you didn’t want them to stop either. With the way his thumb rubbed over your clit so lightly you were on the brink of an orgasm.
All of a sudden the pleasure failed to rush over your body, your hips jerked forwards, needing the movement that was suddenly stopped to start again. 
"No! Please! Why did you stop, please?" You could feel the orgasm dissipating inside of your abdomen, your cunt clenching his fingers inside of you that wouldn’t move. 
"Don't tell me to stop if you actually don't want me to. Now, tell me youre sorry, you brat." Kenma spat at you, you both didn’t have a safe word yet and so, Kenma had no choice but to follow your instructions and body language, he didn’t want a misunderstanding because you got overwhelmed with the toe curling pleasure. 
Heat of embarrassment rushed to your face but you hoped he couldn’t tell, “I’m,” you sighed hating apologizing when you knew you were in the wrong about this, “I’m sorr-” You were cut off once again when Kenma hovered his hot mouth over your clit, his digits continuing their bruising movements from not that long ago.
Soon, the rushing thrill of almost finishing came over you yet again and this time, Kenma let it happen. Your legs went stiff as your back arched, his tongue rolling over your clit and a high-pitched moan releasing from your throat.
Kenma slowly slid his fingers out of your cunt, tasting them when your eyes were closed. He didn’t want you to see how needy he was for you. With deep breaths and a few feathery light face kisses from Kenma, you opened your eyes. 
He was right in your face, staring at you deeply in emotion, “You did so well, I’m so proud. Do you want to stop?” There were no negative feelings in Kenma if you did want to stop, he assumed you were worn out already. 
“Huh? No, of course not. I want,” You paused, realizing how badly you still wanted to be filled, especially by Kenma. “I want more, please.”
Between the time of Kenma kissing you all over your face, he had taken his pants off. You stared at his cock, the angry red tip swollen with a need to be released. You gulped, eyes starting to become lidded with need just by looking at it. 
Kenma reached for his side table after letting you look at it, almost stopping to groan when his dick touched your warmth.
You couldn’t help but to arch your back as his dick twitched, “Can we…do it without the condom?” You flusteredly asked, hiding your face behind your hands, you were slightly grinding on his unprotected dick by now. 
Kenma raises a brow, skeptical about having his first time raw with you, knows he shouldn't, but when you’re being such a little minx, he just couldn’t disobey your request. 
“Are you ready then, Y/n? I’ll be very slow and listen to you.” Kenma promised, eyeing you as you allowed him to slowly enter inside. It’s a very damn good thing that Kenma had some patience, even though it was slowly deteriorating, because your cunt was so fucking wet and siphoned his cock into it. 
With a harsh gulp, he peered down at you, feeling the miniscule beads of sweat on his skin from the activity at hand. Your eyes were tightly shut and Kenma hated how your first time was painful while he wasn't.
Although, he realized that you were tense instead of relaxed and that effectively made the whole action hurt even worse.
“Y/n,” He choked out before taking a deep breath, “Y/n baby, you have to relax. It won’t hurt as much if you relax.” Kenma urged, for your sake and his, he was going to cream himself if you didn’t stop holding his dick hostage in your cunt like this.
After a slight head nod and no result, Kenma carefully leaned down without entering even more and started pressing light kisses to your tense face.
“C’mon, relax baby,” He mumbled, kissing your closed eyes, helping your body become more pliable instead of stiff. 
“M’sorry,” You quietly apologized to him, in which he denied that.
“It’s your first time, you didn’t know, baby.” He reassured you. 
With a few small words of permission to keep letting him sink into your cunt, Kenma fully, but slowly, sheathed himself inside of you.
The snug pleasure was overwhelming to Kenma, but he couldn't help but to prefer your pleasure over his. He decided to keep his eyes from rolling back, watching you as he very gradually rocked into you, watching his cock disappear into your warm, wet cunt.
His dick felt like it was going to burst any second, the ache in his groins was a hard fight to maintain and not flip you over to fulfill his own pleasure. 
That was until you started rocking your hips back to meet him, silently asking for more. Kenma squinted at you and stopped moving until you started whining at him. 
"Use your words,"  Kenma’s rough, mean voice came out. He wanted to hear you say it, you needed to learn to be clear when speaking to him about something. 
You hesitate, "I want more; it doesn't hurt anymore; it feels really good." You sigh in pleasure, feeling the fullest you’ve ever been because of him. 
A snap of Kenma’s hips clashed you both together, and like clockwise, the delicious noises fell out from your mouth, unable to be contained even by your hand. 
Kenma gripped your waist, entering you at a breaking pace, the tightness of his hands on you hurting in such a painfully good way. His cock pierced your insides and you found yourself meeting each and every one of his thrusts with the same eagerness. 
Not being able to keep his hands off of your body because the squish of your walls were pulling him in further, it felt like you didn’t ever want him to leave.
He leaned over you, trying to desperately attach his mouth to yours, the look of both of your eyes were mirrored with pure lust and attractiveness.
In less than no time, the toe curling sensation of a familiar orgasm rushed over you, trying to claim your body. 
“Ken, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," you chanted loudly, rolling your hips faster against his, hoping to grind your clit against him. You fisted at the sheets harder when Kenma put your leg over his shoulder and rubbed your clit. 
Your vision became uncanny as white spots filled it when the crashing wave of the second orgasm of the night rushed over you. Kenma did not slow down or even falter for a second when your body started spasming, your cunt seized as Kenma’s moans finally spilled out as he kept going.
You, on the other hand, had accidentally stopped breathing with the overwhelming waves of pleasure hitting your body as if you were under water. The rush came unyielding as Kenma kept going; he noticed, and yet it made him harder and his dick eager to release.
"Haaah, breathe baby, c'mon breathe for me," Kenma urged, not able to stop his thrusts but trying to soothe your spasmodic state by rubbing your face and throat as gently as he could. 
To his relief, a loud, strangled gasping noise came out of you and Kenma realized that you were crying by now. 
God, seeing you like this in pleasure, your face beating red, and tears rolling down your cheeks was the tipping point. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, oh God, I’m gonna—" Kenma desperately wanted to cum inside and fill you to the brim of his seed but knew that it wasn't smart to do, especially since this was the first time you both had sex.
His dick was tightening, becoming ready to spill his seed inside if he wasn’t ready to pull out. 
"In—side," You choked out, the pleasure making you feel light headed and leaving an airy feeling in your body, almost as if your orgasm never ended. Kenma knew better than to listen to you when you're drunk on sex. 
As his thrusts came to an end, they became sharper and more bruising, and on his last thrust, he pulled out quickly, almost missing, and came on your cunt.
His head was thrown back, groaning, as he rubbed his cock all over your pussy like a dog in heat, the last warm spurts coming out of him on you, which left you with a strange feeling.
Once Kenma was able to collect himself, he leaned down to you looking like you were out of it and not even here all the way. He pressed kisses to your forehead, feeling the dampness on your skin.
"Are you okay? Was I too rough?" Kenma worriedly asked, with a weak shake of your head, he got up ass naked, and all you heard was the bathroom sink running before he came back. In his hands were a cup of water and a wet cloth. 
"Let me clean you; I didn't mean to finish all over you down there," Kenma apologized, his ears turning pink as his usual self came back down to earth.
"Mmm, it's okay. I'm sorry for almost pressuring you to finish inside," you said sheepishly, realizing how bad it was and how horrible he would’ve felt afterwards if that did happen.
After Kenma cleaned you up, he put his shirt over your body, pulled you close, and turned on your favorite childhood show. You relaxed into his body, letting his hands roam all over you and massage the weak points of your body.
"I really enjoyed it, Kenma, thank you." You bundled your head down into the blankets, comfortable in the way he played your favorite show and the fact that his bed, obviously, smelt like him. 
"You make it sound like you paid me," he snorted from behind you, "But you’re welcome; now sleep, you're tired," and sure enough, you followed his orders.
Kenma went quiet behind you as he was relishing in the way your body fit against his, the smell of your shampoo, and the fact that you are in his clothes, which all eased his mind to a comfortable slumber.
synopsis: it's the summer before you go to university, and you decide to become roommates with your pen pal that you've known since you were in primary. big problem arises, he's got a roommate, and it just so happens that his roommate either has a sexual want for you or hates your guts – or probably both?
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a/n: hihi everyone! second to last chapter ;) i hope you've all enjoyed this so far <3
tag list: @geektastic84 @lavanderdreamve @hhoneyhan @kirikeijii @marsoverthestars @nymphsdomain @justagirlnamedkai @kodzukein @74zix47 @kakuzone @jaeminaur @3lectraheart @ookamiakasuna @22marie16 @jlly1 @aldebrana @kad0o @animechick555
@deftrow allowed me permission to make this/it's their idea from A03!! all i did was create a multi-chapter fic of it :) i made the banner!!
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futuristicanoe ¡ 2 days ago
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nightfall's descent
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When you're observing me, who do you think I'm observing?
This time, it is you, who's been left wide awake for far too long.
mature themes; implied insomnia, age gap, issues. nsfw content, but there is no actual smut.
The crackle of thick paper crumpling in your hands makes Alex’s arm twitch. It must be very late, or very early, it is hard to tell the difference because the sun has already gotten into the habit of being distant at all times. It is cold. The outside world is freezing, all shades of blue and uncomfortable.
He is snoring softly. Lying on his stomach, one leg bent, his face is squashed against his forearm. He would feel his eyelashes tickle his skin if he were to open his eyes, that’s how bad it is. He looks relaxed, almost miraculously so. His stubbly chin rests on his other hand and it makes you smile. You are not sure if there is an actual smile on your face right now, but it makes something deep in your chest pulse with aching fondness and that is enough. More than anyone else could make you feel just by existing, that is for sure.
You can’t sleep.
This is normally his problem. It’s not that your sleep schedule is divine, but he needs much more sleep than you do, you have come to find out. He’ll never pass an opportunity to take a nap. On the sofa, on his favourite armchair, sitting at the dinner table —
it is, a breathy whisper of “tired today...” when he stretches his arms and sighs, then yawns and his eyes are visibly more droopy by the time he closes his mouth. Or, “I am gonna need to rest me mind after this...” when you ask him to stir the pot and he can’t tear his gaze away from everything swirling and spinning effortlessly. You know, you always know, you are gonna find him later just like this. Heavy and content, snoring softly.
Alex will do anything to avoid going to bed alone.
The unexpectedness of it had caught you off-guard at first, making you wonder what else you had assumed wrongly about him. He says he does not wanna get used to it, sleeping alone, because he has a habit of turning things into habits, and that has never been a good thing. You take it as a compliment, really, when he waits for you like a good little pet, and you didn’t even need to teach him a thing. To be more specific, it makes you want to grab him and kiss him all over, eat him up in bruising bites, and isn’t that just the best thing you could do for him? He has everything else, doesn’t he? Money, reputation, even love — adoration, fascination, obsession, — might not be the healthiest forms of love, sure, but it’s still much more than you ever got.
He is always tired after making love, too.
Making love, apparently that is what you call it now. It is just what it feels like. It’s not the bad kind of love, either. Everything he touches turns to gold, and you are just happy to be underneath him, on top of him— he is never out of reach. You are never out of his head.
It feels like a privilege to see him this way.
You put your sketchbook to the side, shutting it closed and instinctively holding your breath for a mere second to hear the soft click it makes. You reach out for him with your hand, the one you had been holding your pencil and smudging the ink with. It makes your skin rough like ash would, although, it could not be more obvious how this is not ash or dust, not the remnants of finality, but rather the opposite of it — you wanted to draw him. Couldn’t sleep, and observing him like this is as close as you can get to dreaming without shutting your eyes and falling backwards into the darkness people call “sleep”... but, no... sleep isn’t like this...
This is not still and lifeless, it is pretty radiant here.
”Dreamland?” Oh, yes. This is it.
Bizarre, pretty, yours.
Your fingers touch the softness of his eyebrow, and his eyes tremble slightly, before he sighs and moves his head to the side a bit. His eyebrows furrow. So expressive, even in sleep, even when everything outside is cold and grim, it makes your lungs ache and rattle your ribcage a tiny bit.
Nothing new.
He is mostly bare underneath the covers, you are pretty sure.
A small part of his thigh is exposed from how his leg is bent. Firm, yet soft, kissable. You pull back the covers slightly to see his knee and– there it is. The bruise.
You had bitten him in the afternoon.
He was busy coming back down to earth. You had kept him all safe and tender in your mouth for long enough to make some part of him believe in the sacredness of this thing. That it wasn’t fucking or any kind of animalistic instinct when he held your head down and an obscene noise escaped his throat. Without his permission, too, he always tries to be quiet when your mouth is full of him. As an act of showing empathy, or maybe it would feel dangerously close to silencing you, and he doesn’t want to get used to that either.
The bruise makes his skin pretty like the sunset kissed it.
You lean down to kiss it now, softly, gently. He squirms.
“Hm?”
You watch his face as he slowly wakes up. Stretching modestly like a house pet.
“What time is it?” His voice sounds somehow even rougher than usual, you feel a shiver run through your spine.
“I don’t know.”
That sobers him up, for some odd reason, and his eyes search for your face. Alex holds a hand up before he drops it next to yours.
“I was waiting. For you to come back to bed when you got up in the middle of the night. But I couldn’t‐ could not keep my eyes open, you know? I tried, though...” his voice trails off into a quiet mumble. He is apologising for something you have never even mentioned or thought about.
“I know, Alex.”
“What are you doing?”
You pick up the sketchbook again, handling it with an air of carelessness that does not belong to you. As if this part of you, which you are holding in your hand, has somehow become less important now that he is watching.
“Nothing, really. I couldn’t sleep again.”
He moves closer to you, still on his stomach. Lazy boy.
“Wanna show me?”
Your hesitation is undeniably palpable and thick in the air, he could cut it with a knife. You’d pay him to do that if he could.
Your numb fingers grip your sketchbook a tad bit tighter, with his sleepy eyes following the movement, he takes a deep breath.
“I want to see, love.”
Alex looks more awake now than he did when he woke up in the morning. He loves the sun, but it is not always there for him. It is cold now, even in the morning. Especially in the morning. Still dark, still freezing, and you weren’t there. It felt like the day after a perfect day, and he woke up not with a hazy, blurry mind but a very clear head and thoughts so sharp that they hurt.
He grows amusedly suspicious when your eyes widen with hesitation. This is not the first time.
“Is it– mmm–“ his voice turns into a soft croon, the cartoonish quality of it making his own eyes twinkle. “Is it me? In there...?”
“Huh?”
“Were you drawing me?”
You let out a huff at the accusation. “I've not drawn anything for so long. And it is literally just a rough sketch, I don’t even like it. I’m not trying to hide, it is not a–“
“But it is mine, isn’t it?” He crawls again, just wanting to be closer to you. He does this thing, getting closer to you so you can hear him more clearly, instead of just raising his voice like everybody else does. He is pressed up against your form now with a smirk on his face. Only a second or three passes as he is observing you, expecting you to hand over the sketchbook, and then he is chuckling, his face scrunching up. “Are you hiding me from myself? Come on... that is my job.”
You can’t help but laugh with him. “You always say I see you somewhat differently, though... I wouldn’t want to end up making a fool of myself or whatever it is that I'm so afraid of."
Something glimmers in his eyes, just a subtle flicker of it, and it is almost as if he never slept, once again. “Never have I said that to you.”
“Not to me, maybe, no... Does it matter?”
“Are you– hold on, tell me when was the last time you slept properly, and don’t lie.”
You almost comment on his tone, but you decide to answer him, only to realize that you can not.
His eyebrows furrow, and he sits up. It is difficult to handle this, you don't think you are ever gonna get used to it. Being so close, he looks too real. His skin is shiny under the moonlight, the tan is gone, pale again from the way he has succumbed to solitary lifestyles similar to those they teach you about in the bible. His scent... Cigarettes, is it? Something bitter-sweet and addictive like thick honey on his skin, too, and it ought to make you crave more when you let your teeth cut loose.
Not again... what was he talking about?
“Honey?”
You look at him. Alex. Al. God, he is going to get actually old one day, isn’t he? You almost wish he isn’t. You almost wish you had met him when he was younger, he could have broken your heart that way, the casual way, it certainly would have been easier. All kinds of leather were tight over his muscles back then, hair slippery and tousled and apparently perfect. Dark, but shiny like jet, steel, something solid and useful. Something you definitely wouldn’t have seemed, if you had been the one standing next to him in those messy, flashy polaroids and countless paparazzi shots.
You always had this thought about how his hair and his leather jackets shone the same way, and that thought used to make you giddy then almost teary. At least you never forgot how to fantasise and daydream about and do everything but avoid men like him, because he is actually right here now and he is... different.
“Yes.” You talk in a whisper, your voice soft and quiet like the rustling of your sheets underneath him as he shifts to caress your neck with a gentle hand.
“Where did you go?”
“I’m here.”
“Hmm. Yes, you are. I believe you now.” Alex hums, smiles. Looking thoughtful for a second before his face is hovering over yours, and he leans down to press a kiss to your neck. There is a hushed mumble against your skin. You nudge his shoulder.
“Honeysop,” he mumbles again, but this time, a giggle makes his voice sound chirpy.
“What the fuck?”
“I said... I’ve got a new nickname for you.” Alex looks down at you. (Studying your face with the expression of a man who knows he doesn’t have to tell his kid that Santa Claus isn’t real or something along those lines.)
You smile — a toothy, sweet thing to make his eyes shine even brighter. You can not help but notice the way his chain is dangling from his neck. Why must every single part of him shine like that? You touch it gently, soft fingertips warm against the cool metal. There are tiny pink marks left on his chest from how the chain had pressed into his skin in sleep. You find it soothing to watch it rock back and forth above you, and you are very sure that he is amused by that fact.
Suddenly, you find your voice again. “I think, had this been some other time, any other time, I would have asked you to fuck me right here. You know, it’s midnight, you are all just the perfect amount of wound up and silly. I can’t sleep. But... can I...” You impulsively kiss the tip of his nose just because it is the part of him closest to your lips. His eyes are wide and sweet, intrigued.
“You could pose for me... I want to draw you. And when I’m done, I won’t hide it from you, no... I could even draw it in your notebook. I know you prefer the ones with blank pages, I do, too.” Alex ducks his head slowly, listening intently, but all of a sudden, too busy leaving loving bites on your throat and pressing his lips against your heart. You grab his hair firmly, hoping to keep his eyes fixated on you.
“Then I’ll let you fuck me. I want–," You giggle when his stubble tickles the softness of your chest accidentally, but you keep going. He can feel your heart thumping faster and faster. "I want you too tired and distracted after you're done, just– too stupid to care for finding whatever the hell I drew in there. Be- because God knows it is gonna be horrible, Al, don't even..."
Alex grabs your face with a firm hand, his thumb digging into the skin near your mouth and the rest of his fingers wrap tightly around your jaw.
"Shhhhh... dove..."
You whimper quietly at his cooing, the contrast between his soft murmurs and the strength in his hand causes your mind to get filthier with each breath. And not just your mind, really, you would be pressing your thighs together right now if he wasn't straddling them so rudely. He presses his cheek against yours, his mouth just hovering over your ear. Tilting his head back for a few seconds, just to see your pretty earring up close. It makes him smile, even though he can barely make it out of the darkness.
"You've got to stop it, love, stop hiding. I need to keep seeing you, all of it, okay?"
You nod the best you can, chest trembling and hips twitching from the intensity of his words. Alex keeps hushing you as his touches travel down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. Tracing the hem, tapping his blunt fingernails over your stomach like he might do to the strings of a guitar he's yet to be familiar with.
Alex sits back, pulling away from you entirely with a huff. He grabs your sketchbook from where you left it earlier. A twitch in his bicep and a weary sigh on his lips, as if he's been forced to pick up some of kind of evidence.
You try to touch his knee, or just any part of him that you can possibly reach, but your fingers accidentally curl over him right where a bruise is still blooming and tender on his thigh and he hisses.
Cool cat... or is he, really?
It is something of a blur after that. Like you pressed a button and you are waiting to find out if it was the good one or not.
Alex takes your sketchbook and lets the poor thing covered in charcoal marks rest in the drawer of your nightstand.
The sheets he has tangled himself in bother him way too much. And they smell like you, as always, it is messing with his head right now and more importantly, it makes him want to mess with yours. He pushes them away, your relentless pawing at the worn white fabric anything but helpful.
Alex tugs at your shirt to pull it up, too, so he isn't the only one feeling cold and exposed. He clutches your waist, settling lower on the bed this time and resting his cheek on your hip. You can feel his chain touch you. He looks up.
"This– can you feel it?" He gently caresses, presses down on your lower tummy with his fingers, before moving his face slightly and planting a soft kiss right there. "This is where I need to be."
Just that sentence, the last one — it makes you cry out, your shaky hand coming down to grip his hair.
"No need for any... paper or ink or cameras. It is just us, dove. Even put the sketchbook away for you, so just let me, huh? It'll feel much better, 'cause it is more special."
A muffled keen leaves your lips when he starts to slowly slide your underwear down your legs. You didn't even realize you were biting down on your knuckles until now. Until you see the red mark you have left on your hand and the string of saliva connecting your parted mouth to it.
Alex stops when he hears the desperate noise you make, frowning. Something felt off. He lies down beside you now. Face to face. His touches turning delicate and patient, instead of demanding. "What's wrong?" He asks, sweet and every single thing that makes your heart ache all over again. He strokes your cheek, gentle warmth spreading over the parts he had grabbed and got a bit close to bruising earlier. Your eyes grow softer and so does his.
"I'm cold, Al. But if you put a blanket over me... I'm gonna get sleepy, too."
He kisses your lips once. A reward for not hiding from him again, perhaps.
Alex studies your hazy gaze for a moment. He grabs the blanket you had apparently used as a pillow when you hopped on his bed a few hours ago. Pecks your collarbone, covering the both of you with that warm blanket and he smiles as you move lazily to curl up against him properly.
It is easy for him to adore the way you cling to him, let out a soft noise when you are shifting to your side and swinging your leg over his, remembering that the only thing you are wearing is your shirt not exactly right on time.
"Pardon me, if I sound too crude, but..." He chuckles against your neck, the sound scratching his throat. "You were– well, are, fucking dripping, girl."
You giggle. "What was that word? Ah, yeah. Honeysop."
"You are ridiculous." He shakes his head and tuts when you try to move away from him, wrapping an arm around your torso and hugging you even closer than before. "No. No hiding, stay here."
There is a soft smile on your face, your mind full of fuzzy, messy bits and you are sure that feeling his warm breath on your skin must be something from your personal heaven.
Your voice comes out as a quiet, soft murmur. "I don't know what it is, but, sometimes you say things in a certain way and it just... there is this moment after I hear you, when I feel as if you could do anything you wanted to me and it would– nothing else could possibly be better than that."
Alex kisses your temple, carding his fingers through your hair. "That's a lot."
You squirm. "Maybe that's what makes it special... no? You said it was–"
"You pay a lot of attention to what I say, you know? I think that's exactly what makes it special." Another kiss. "That I trust you to see me... like I want to be seen. Not differently, you used that word, and I got a bit silly over it. It's never about differences between us. I try not to make it about them, at least."
"Always had a thing for that," you say, a bitter-sweet tint to your tone. "Contrasting subjects, juxtaposition... maybe that's why I got into painting, too. And oh, yes, there we have another difference for us to avoid admitting to, I guess," you laugh.
"Is this funny to you? Or are you just... amused by it?"
"Why?"
"You are laughing."
"I'm tired."
He could close his eyes and he would still be able to see the smile and that hidden yawn in your voice.
Alex sighs, delighted.
"I guess you're just gonna have to sleep now, then, honeysop."
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1-up-chump ¡ 3 days ago
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Random assortment of magneto headcanons
He's fond of sweets, but nothing overtly so sweet it feels like your mouth is rotting. His favorites are anything cream or jelly filled and/or powdered. However he's slightly embarrassed to eat them because he always ends up a mess somehow, so he stuffs his face with them in secret.
As a child he always wanted a pet rabbit, as an adult he secretly still wants one if life will ever allow him some peace and time to take care of it.
Hates needles, they give him too many bad memories and he needs to have someone to hold his hand and calm him down if he absolutely needs an injection. Otherwise he'll panic out of instinct.
Prefers early spring or early autumn, likes the transition of seasons more than anything else. He likes the symbolism in it.
Often has nightmares and trouble sleeping, will have a strategy to take discreet cat naps where no one is looking to compensate the lack of sleep. It's impossible to sneak up on magneto when he's sleeping (unless he's in a deep sleep or knocked tf out)
Whether mutant or human, he cannot say no to a small child being polite while begging him for something, especially if they give him a cute little expression. Not immune to cutness. He absolutely cannot refuse them if they ask for a hug
Speaking of hugs, magneto has the warmest most protective hugs. You'll always feel secure and protected. He's really just a big teddy bear but will never admit it or see it himself personally.
Is ticklish, but good luck trying to get him. He flails and growls threats but if you find his weak spots (underarms, hips, lower back, belly, back of knee, under chin) he's as helpless as a kitten. Loses control of his abilities so anything metal around him is going to levitate and curl slightly.
Is a happy and friendly drunk, jumps at any chance to show off his theatrical nonsense. Often has giggle fits. He gets sleepy very easily while drunk. Very clingy very touchy feelie, good luck getting a drunk magneto off of you.
It's hard for him to relax due to his trauma. Whenever he does manage to let his guard down he gets struck with sudden anxiety and his walls are back up. He secretly desires Xavier to dive into his mind and make his mind shut up, force him to relax, cover up these anxieties and traumas so he can have some peace. But charles would never do it unless erik verbally asks him to, but Erik's pride would never allow it. So he suffers in silence, and rejects Xavier's other attempts to calm him.
The sight of any child near a window high up or a ledge gives him terrible anxiety. He'll do anything to get the child away from potentially falling even if its not that dangerous a height. Even if it makes him seem mean or scary. He has his reasons why.
He stims with metallic balls or cubes, it helps him focus but he's been recently told he looks like a dramatic jackass when he does it. He does not care.
There are only two beings that truly intimidate him but comand his respect, storm and thor. Because lets just say he's had a taste of both their lightning and would rather stay on their good side.
Around the holidays he makes an attempt to reach out to his children wanda and Pietro. To varying degrees of success but he tries.
Thinks spider-man is annoying as hell. Thinks venom does a better job but is unnerved and disgusted by him so he rather wants to keep his distance.
Thinks dates and other romantic outtings should always be around nighttime because it's more romantic.
Sometimes has intrusive thoughts of eating certain metals because they look aesthetically pleasing enough to eat. Not iron deficient but due to his mutation he just craves iron.
Being around too much electronics gives him a headache. And in turn he can cause them to not work because he's subconsciously trying to get rid of them with his magnetism.
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stxrrnightjxr ¡ 3 days ago
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Autistic Regulus, whom I hold so near and dear to my heart, they can never take you away from me. 😔
As an autistic person, (who gets probably way to hyperfixated on certain characters) these are my HC’s:
- He was diagnosed late. Like, REALLY late. Canon compliance, he wasn’t at all, and in some modern AU it was probably late into his twenties, maybe early-to-mid-thirties, and after he was out of his parent’s hold. Because Walburga and Orion could never accept that there was something wrong with their daughter, son (because I live for trans Reggie) so why should they ever enable anyone to believe that he was ‘mental’? Or ‘slow’? No, a Black child wasn’t those things. (OOC; Just for reference, autistic people are not, nor do I think they are, mental, crazy, slow, or any of those things. I am autistic myself, and have many friends who are, and know that is not the case 💚)
This also leads to a lot of trauma for Regulus, and a lot of repressed emotions. He learned how to mask very quickly, and very well.
- he’s sensitive to bright lights (which his light blue/gray eyes do not help with), and so he squints his eyes a lot. Barty once told him he looked like he was scrutinizing his face, and Regulus simply said ‘I am, it’s ugly.’ (He doesn’t believe that, but he’s not going to tell you that.) (I love sneaking in unrelated Bartylus)
- along with bright lights, he’s sensitive to loud noises. That was hard for him when he would have to listen to, or endure, his parents screaming. When they’d scream at Sirius, Regulus would hide up in his room, in the closet, with his hands over his ears, hoping nobody called for him. When he was the one being screamed at, he’d just zone out and hope they would just go away.
- he used to be that he couldn’t bear to hold eye contact, like it physically hurt him; but his parents beat it into him that it was disrespectful, so now he’s ended up being that guy who will just dead-stare into someone’s eyes if they’re talking to him. It often unsettles them, and makes Regulus out to be some ‘weird, creepy kid.’ (Regulus was originally confused by this; wasn’t he doing it right? Do you look at their eyes or no?)
- his voice is very monotone. He was often able to get away with this, because it sounded much like his father’s. (Orion had a number of peculiar habits, and quirks. No one talked about it.)
- intimacy (even friendly touch, like hand-holding, hugging) is difficult for him. Regulus does not hug, he does not hold people’s hands. (Unless it was Sirius’, because Sirius was the one who’d hold his hand when he was melting down every other night. Sirius’ hand feels too familiar to hurt, like most others’ do.) he’s only comfortable with touch once he REALLY gets to know a person, and even then, there’s still strict no-no’s. (No touching his hair, his neck, his wrists, his legs, his feet, his stomach, (basically nothing below his waist) )- in retrospect, not much. (Those rules had more leeway with Barty, he supposed.)
- he HATES certain sounds. Cannot stand chewing, cannot stand repetitive sounds (even though he occasionally makes those, only when he’s alone), sounds of bugs, cannot stand certain textures, too- velvet, for one (formal events were nightmares, for that, and many other reasons), microfiber, and certain denims.
- he loves the water. It’s very calming, has a nice sound, has a nice texture. He listens to thunderstorm/rain sounds to go to sleep to, (because another thing is he cannot tolerate silence.)
Again, this may be me way too much projecting, but I really don’t care 🫶
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reallife6anoufriev6boy6 ¡ 16 hours ago
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fluff nikityom hcs? i need to see my boys happy
fluff artkita headcanons!
i need to see them happy too…sniffles…they deserve it…also thank you! (cant find a gif with both so just pretend..)
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in this particular thing i feel like artyom does hold some love for nikita - he just has no idea how to express it properly and it can get pretty overwhelming.
nikita on the other hand isnt as confused about his feelings and is a lot more open then artyom.
nikita is definitely the touchier and clingier one out of the two. i feel like hed always like to hold onto artyom and hold his hand and just always want to touch him in some way. artyom only reciprocates if he does it first - too embarrassed to be the first one to do it.
hair. omg. hair. nikita totally loves to brush out artyoms hair and play with it - he thinks its so pretty and nice. artyom on the other hand also likes to brush nikitas hair out so he can get rid of all the knots and tangles - he tries to be as gentle as he can about it.
going along with that they definitely take showers together. i think artyom wants to make sure that nikita really does get himself clean and taken care of so he washes him off and makes sure hes super clean. nikita loves it and is always leaning into his touch.
when nikita isnt feeling well artyom will let him hug him while he cries and talks about whats wrong - artyom would be holding onto him and rubbing his back as he comforts him to try and help him feel better. once he tires himself out they for sure cuddle in bed while artyom hushes him and wipes away his remaining tears.
nikita really hates his body, but when artyom is touching over him and complimenting him he feels like the hottest man in the world. artyom would have a hard time admitting it out loud, but he genuinely thinks nikita is beautiful. he loves his acne and the bits of fat that stick out here and there - just everything about him.
nikita tries his best to clean his room before artyom comes over, but he always ends up helping him clean up anyway.
when they sleep together they sleep with so many blankets and cuddle up as close as possible because of how cold it is. i think those two would be rambling and whispering to each other into the early hours of the morning until the fall asleep.
sometimes artyom works himself too hard and can get super stressed and exhausted, so nikita will force him to relax and calm down for a little while. it always ends with artyom falling asleep on him.
artyom can sometimes get too cold outside and when he does nikita always offers him his hoodie. he argues but eventually takes it and it feels like the best goddamn thing hes ever worn - he even gets reluctant to take it off when he has to.
that stupid hoodie omg. artyom would love the way it looks on nikita and would think it fits him so well.
when nikita is too caught up in their videos sometimes artyom will catch him off guard by yanking his bandana down and kissing him. hes always quick to reciprocate and it always turns into the sweetest, longest kiss ever. artyom would swing his arms over nikitas shoulders and artyom would put his hands on his waist…hrnff…
sometimes theyll both cook for each other whenever theyre feeling like they wanna have an actual meal. neither of them are very good at it, but they figure it out together LOL
when theyre outside and mostly alone theyll hold hands while they walk and be all close and stuff. although sometimes their walks outside end with them throwing snow at each other LOL
artyom tries to teach nikita how to play the guitar, but he can never pick up on it because hes too busy admiring his boyfriend while he plays - because of that artyom is always behind him/in front of him moving his arms and hands into place while putting his fingers where they need to be. nikitas always so proud when hes able to play a note or two and artyom just finds it so attractive even if it isnt much
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bawmbo ¡ 21 hours ago
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hi, thank you. youve opened a can of worms that cannot be closed
killer is such an interesting character to me. i realized that im not actually too sure where to start but ill start with his timeline;
the idea of a character whose home was slowly destroyed for reasons outside of their control and beyond what they couldve ever thought was real is an incredibly interesting concept to me. i also love psychological horror and reality breaking type of things in relation to it.
to be transformed into something outside of the bounds of definition, and live with the consequences of that, of your loss of autonomy is terrifying. to be named under that total loss is horrifying. to know that everybody will only know your name and never what you went through to get there, that no one would even really care. not that you could get yourself to. theres so much potential with the idea of someone who wants to drain your world of everything for entertainment, and they can forcefully recode it, and they do not care about you because you are just a game character to them. and you are the only one aware of this. and when youre taken out of the timeline by a strange man who can also forcefully shift your control of your situation, everyone will only know you as just as bad as him. as a murderer with no reason. and every time you look at this man (nightmare) all you can feel is the same hatred you feel for yourself. you cant help but feel like youre the same. but this isnt about nightmare as much as i really do love him and writing his character (also super passionate about him)
i have a lot of problems in general with his fandom portrayal and the fact that we either see him as portrayed as either incredibly childish, dumb, very sexualized, etc. and its okay to want to write him how you want to write him, have fun, just not our cup of tea
to us, hes incredibly agile, quiet. hes eerie and incredibly smart and much more aware of whats going on than he lets on. he has lost all respect for anyone who claims theyre more powerful than him, and the way he taunts is by bringing them back to his level (or just doing things he knows pisses them off but not enough to get him killed for it. massive staring problem and wont elaborate on it). and while he can be flirty, where i understand the sexualization comes from.
i think i just crave more in depth characterization from him. how terrifying he is during battles, how he knows the knives he fights with better than the air he breathes and the placement of his feet just as much. how he could be using his magic but its difficult to fight him even without it. the absence of what he could be doing and the presence of how difficult what he is doing showing through. his disconnection from the world around him and how hard it is to realize that everything around you is just codes. that everything is malleable in the wrong hands and everyone lives their lives blissfully unaware of how quickly things can change. and how he could be deeply angry by this but never actually feel it well in his chest like he sees with others. he isnt indifferent, and at some point, somewhere he might express that care. but he cant. and this is it. and he doesnt know how to move on from that.
maybe when he gets close to people his relationships end up showing slow signs of trust. when he does trust people is he surprised if they leave? how scared is he to depend on anyone when no one was ever there to? maybe one day he finally learns to sleep with his chest or back exposed and around people. and his version of hanging out is going "hey i know a spot" and its a 50 minute walk through a closed off forest but its beautiful. and youll probably get some diseases, just gotta hope you dont. the next place is probably a feral cat colony hiding in the sewers hes been feeding and slowly gaining the trust of. hes weird.
in general i really do love complex characters and think about them a lot. and i love seeing how complex characters can be written. i love exploring the possibilities with him and i find that when we either write him or collab stories where we write characters interacting with him, we have a lot of fun and end up thinking about him a lot.
my friend @nullandvalid is a big killer enthusiast too and if you send him an ask you could probably get a big rant too. (also @thaltro. both him and null write killer super well imo. been incredibly fun to listen to them talk about how they write him and engage in writing stories with them) thank you for giving me time to yap about it, ill probably be thinking of more in the meantime but this is all i have atm fhahaha
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another one for fun, pretty experimental. this one was one of those "draw regardless of whether or not you think it looks good" things. swore to myself the next utmv character i drew and posted was gonna be fell but here we are. gonna try to get used to posting things that i dont consider my best work. hi killer love you dude
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story-book-sillies ¡ 1 month ago
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Uuuuhhhhhhggggggggggg I don’t WANT to go to bed but I’m tiiiirrrrreddddd
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poorly-drawn-mdzs ¡ 6 months ago
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Good morning, Sleepyhead.
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#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#'WWX was asleep for 4 days' is an incorrect factoid.#The average WWX sleeps for 8 hours. The PD-MDZS WWX who was asleep for 40 comics and 4 months is an outlier.#We are back to present day! I have missed drawing them!#Ah...the contrast between how the flashback ended (cold and distrustful) to how wwx wakes up (warm and watched over)...#The gap between the past and present is very important. Not just in this story but in our lives too.#The past can still hurt and it doesn't just go away with time as some say. It is the power of realizing that things have changed.#We can't get the good back. The bad memories have concluded. Those live somewhere else now.#It is hard to realize that you have to live for today and tomorrow. The past is so loud.#For WWX it is realizing that despite the mistrust in the past - He really does have faith that LWJ will be there for him.#It is the reflection of knowing that you changed and will keep changing and that change is good and kind sometimes.#But more importantly...and this I really do mean with all my heart:#It will all end up okay in the end. Even after the worst day. The most painful losses. You will get through it.#What feels like a breaking point is truthfully just another step you have to take. You'll get through it even though it feels like the end.#There are wonderful things you have yet to see. Friends you have yet to meet.#Even if it hurts so badly...one day it just aches. Someday you'll go a few weeks not remembering that it ever hurt.#Oh and because my izutsumi comic revealed many people were in need of hearing this:#You are loved. Right now. You are so loved right now. We just forget to tell each other that.#Go tell the people you love that they matter to you. I'm assigning you homework!!! You are graded on completion.
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